


Shrapnel

by pastelwitchling



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Malex, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelwitchling/pseuds/pastelwitchling
Summary: Alex's PTSD comes back to haunt him after a narrow escape from death.
Relationships: Michael Guerin & Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 70
Kudos: 156





	1. Help Me

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! Yaaaaay!  
> If you enjoy reading at all, please comment and share as it always makes the world of a difference ❤

Alex was in the hospital.

Those were the words Michael had woken up to, the words that had him barreling out of Max’s bedroom and into his truck, leaving his siblings’ calls to him behind.

He couldn’t remember much from their fight with Mr. Jones. He remembered Max and Isobel, and Liz and Maria, and even Gregory and Flint had fought because Alex had been there. Because Alex was always there to protect Michael.

And then they’d been separated, and the world had turned dark, and Michael had woken up several hours later with Alex’s name on his lips.

The truck’s tires screeched as Michael pulled up to a stop in front of the hospital doors, startling more than a few people.

He leapt out before the engine had even shut off, storming up to the counter and growling out one name. _Manes._

The frightened nurse looked it up on the computer, casting wary glances at Michael, and muttered, “ER,” before Michael lost his mind all over again.

He ditched the elevator and took the stairs two at a time. The ER. Alex was in the ER. Michael thought his heart might stop. He was envisioning a million different scenarios as he hurried up to the fifth floor, a million versions of Alex and diagnoses and very sorry doctors with very bad news that only got worse and worse. Michael may have blown a storage door off its hinges on one of the landings.

Then he’d reached the nearly empty hall, his heart thrashing so wildly it hurt, and when he spotted Alex sitting against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest in front of the automatic doors of the operating room, the world turned still for a split second, and all Michael could hear was his own panting.

“Alex,” he breathed before running across the hall, falling to his knees beside the airman, and wrapping him in his arms.

“Alex, Alex, Alex,” he breathed into the crook of Alex’s neck, one hand in Alex’s soft hair, his other arm around his shoulders. “Baby, you’re okay. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

He pulled back, holding Alex’s face in his hands. “You –” he kissed Alex’s forehead “—I heard you were at the hospital –” he kissed his cheeks “—and I thought –” he pecked Alex’s lips and pulled him in for another hug “—I couldn’t breathe, Alex. But you’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I’m . . .” he managed, his voice barely above a mutter.

Michael’s smile faltered. He pulled back again and saw now that Alex was in an even worse state than _he_ was. He had cuts along his jaw, the bridge of his nose, his knuckles. There were bruises on his cheeks and wrists, and his hair was windswept as if he’d been running his hand through it all day.

Michael tried to meet his eyes. Alex was staring ahead, his brows furrowed slightly. He didn’t speak. The look on his face was so lost, so _numb_ , that Michael felt that familiar dread and panic since he’d woken return.

He looked up and realized the other person in the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes on the door, waiting, was Flint.

Michael looked back at Alex. “Where’s Gregory?”

Alex swallowed with visible difficulty, his nails leaving deep lines in his other hand, his knuckles white under the harsh red of his wounds as he tightly clasped his hands together.

“Critical condition, he –” Alex shook his head. “I was almost shot. He pushed me out of the way. Kyle’s doing what he can – please, Guerin, stop asking me, I don’t . . .” he trailed off.

Actually it was more like Alex just _couldn’t_ finish. His mouth opened and closed several times on a silent sentence.

So Gregory had saved Alex, and as a result, he’d ended up in emergency care. Michael watched Alex stare into nothingness, the guilt and self-loathing evident in his face. Michael knew he shouldn’t be here. Knew he shouldn’t be touching Alex the way he was, knew he shouldn’t have _kissed_ him the way he had. They weren’t a couple, and Alex and Forrest had only recently broken up, and Alex still couldn’t completely look at Michael after his relationship with Maria.

Forrest had been avidly fond of Alex and painfully aware when it came to Michael, and when he’d realized that Michael and Maria had dated, Michael remembered the look of outrage and confusion the historian had dealt Alex. A look that clearly screamed; _And you’re still hanging around this guy because . . .?_

After Forrest had left, unable to watch as Alex threw his own sanity away for the sake of keeping Michael happy, something had broken, and Alex had come to realize that the way he’d been treated actually _wasn’t_ okay, and every bit of anger and disappointment he’d felt and stored away came leaking out, bit by bit, every day since then.

That was months ago. And yes, Michael knew he shouldn’t have been here for Alex now, but it was _months_ ago. Alex may not have wanted to see him, but Michael was going to die if he had to be away from him again.

So instead of leaving this time as he knew he ought to, Michael nodded wordlessly, sat down beside Alex, and slung an arm around his shoulders. He gently pulled Alex in against him after some hesitation, and the airman moved as was wanted of him. But his eyes never closed, and the tension in his shoulders never faded, and his nails kept digging into his skin.

Michael pressed his lips to Alex’s hair, but Alex didn’t seem to feel that either.

Hours passed as they sat in the cold, Max, Isobel, Liz, and Maria having arrived to check on Alex and sit with him in shifts. Alex didn’t lift his head or answer any questions beyond a simple shake of his head or a nod, after which he would turn his face into Michael’s shoulder with furrowed brows, as if he was suffering a constant headache.

“Leave him,” Flint muttered, his arms still crossed as he looked at his brother. “Just leave him.”

Liz glared. “We want to help.”

“You can’t help,” was all Flint said.

They soon realized that Alex wasn’t going to go home or get any rest or have any food, so when Liz settled on getting Alex a fresh change of clothes and a first aid kit to clean up his wounds, Isobel was there at his other side, her head on his shoulder.

Michael dozed off once or twice, his head resting on top of Alex’s, and he’d wake to find Alex idly playing with the hem of his shirt or resting his palm against Michael’s chest, feeling his heartbeat.

“You cold?” Michael asked him at one point well after midnight. He wrapped both arms tighter around Alex, running a hand up and down his side. Alex didn’t answer, staring into nothing. Michael tried not to be worried by the emptiness in his gaze, or the furrow in his brows as if he was seeing something Michael couldn’t.

Alex’s face suddenly scrunched up, as if in pain or like he might cry. Then he made a choking sound and covered his mouth, scrambling to his feet and running down the hall. Michael followed him into the bathroom where he barely landed on his knees in a stall and threw up.

Michael leaned over him, rubbing his back soothingly and pushing damp strands of hair off his brow.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, his heart aching with every choke in Alex’s throat, every miserable cough, every reluctant tear that fell down the bridge of his nose.

Alex heaved for a few long seconds, then fell back, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. Without a word, he forced himself to his feet.

“Alex,” Michael tried, but Alex was already slumped over the sink, filling his mouth with water and spitting it out. “Please, just slow down for a second.”

Alex ignored him, wiping his mouth off on the paper towels after cleaning up.

“Private, just – let’s just get you something to eat.”

“Drop it, Guerin.” Alex turned to the door, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye. Michael went to block him again.

He took Alex’s face in his hands, desperate to still him for a single second. “Hey, _hey_ , look at me.” He caressed Alex’s cheeks with his thumbs, and tried for a smile. “Listen. I’ll take you home – no, wait – I’ll take you home, get you some food, some change of clothes. You can sleep in a real bed, and I promise to wake you up after a few hours. O-Or one. One hour, and I’ll wake you up, and bring you right back here –”

Alex wearily took Michael’s wrists. “Guerin –”

“ _Or_ ,” Michael stepped into Alex’s space, lowering his voice, “I can take you to the trailer. Okay? Just you and me.” His grip on Alex tightened. He couldn’t let him go now, not when he looked like he might fall apart at any second.

“We’ll go back to the trailer,” he said, and Alex looked up at him. “I’ll make you something to eat, and . . . and you can sleep in my arms –”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Alex snapped, pushing Michael’s hands down. Michael faltered. “Just stop it, I can’t – I can’t do this with you right now, okay? Please.”

Alex’s fingers were twitching. The circles under his eyes were prominent, the bruises and cuts on his face and hands blaring. And his eyes kept flitting to Michael’s face and back down as if he didn’t know where he was supposed to look or what he was supposed to think.

Before he realized he was doing it, Michael nodded. The smallest trace of relief crossed Alex’s expression, and he rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. Michael took a step towards him. He wanted to hold him, to pull him in against him and kiss him like he’d kissed him when he’d first arrived.

But then Alex nodded, too, and walked out past Michael. Michael stood there a while, thinking. Then he followed his airman back outside, staying close, as they both wanted.

Hours later, Michael found himself back on the floor with Alex. No sooner had Alex sat down than Michael had wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him in against him. He worried Alex might object to so much affection, but Alex let Michael do whatever he wanted. He said nothing as Michael pressed his nose to his hair, inhaling his scent. Nothing as Michael let his hands wander up to Alex’s chest to feel his heartbeat and reassure himself that Alex was still alive and breathing and _safe_. No matter what Michael did or how he touched him, Alex didn’t argue or fight back or turn away.

He only turned his face into Michael’s chest and stared ahead, unseeing. Michael had taken off his hat, setting it aside as he tried to make himself comfortable with his head on Alex’s, catching whatever sleep he could, his grip unrelenting.

It was around five in the morning that the automatic doors finally opened, and Alex was instantly on his feet. Flint, who had been dozing off against the wall, woke with a silent gasp as Kyle stepped out, taking off his surgical gloves.

“Kyle?” Alex croaked out.

Kyle seemed to like Alex’s helpless and frightened tone about as much as Michael did because the first thing he did as he reached the brothers was put a hand on Alex’s shoulder and smile.

“He’s gonna be just fine,” he said, and Alex exhaled a single breath of relief before Flint grabbed his shoulder as if it was a lifeline. Alex covered his face with his hands, breathing slowly. Michael tried to reach for him. Was he crying?

Kyle leaned down, trying to catch his eyes, reassuring him. “He’s _fine_ , Alex.”

“Yeah,” Alex breathed, lowering his hands. His eyes were dry. “Yeah. Can – uh – can we see him?”

Before Kyle could answer, they heard clacking behind them, and looked over their shoulders to find Max and Isobel coming towards them. The echoing sounds were Isobel’s heels on the tiled floor.

Michael looked back at Alex to find him flinching, slowly reaching up to hug himself. He frowned.

“Alex?”

He winced, and Michael frowned. Kyle seemed to have noticed it, too.

“Alex, are you okay?”

“Can we see him?” Alex asked again, and Kyle glanced up, catching Michael’s eyes.

Michael wanted to insist that Alex have Kyle look at his wounds, patch him up properly, maybe let him sleep in one of the empty rooms. But that wasn’t what Alex needed right now. He needed someone to help him keep going.

It went against every fiber in Michael’s body, but he said, “He’s fine, Valenti.”

“What’s going on?” Isobel asked, looking to Michael and Alex for reassurance. “How’s . . .”

“Gregory’s going to be okay,” Kyle answered, and both Isobel and Max looked relieved to hear it. “You can go see him in about ten minutes, once they have him in his room. I’ll be right back, okay?” Instead of waiting for anyone else’s answer, Kyle gripped Alex’s arm. “Alex, he’s out of danger. Go grab something from the cafeteria.”

Kyle cast a dubious glance at Michael, as if he couldn’t trust Alex to him. His gaze settled on Flint, even as Michael glared. “Make sure he does it.” Then, to Alex, he said, “You need to eat. Doctor’s orders.”

With a pat to Alex’s shoulder, Kyle walked away. Alex slowly hugged himself.

“Hey,” Michael said softly. “He’s fine. Smile.”

Alex managed a short quirk of his lips before it was gone, visible exhaustion settling in.

“Come on,” Flint nudged his arm. “Let’s go get some food.”

Alex pursed his lips and nodded. He glanced at Michael who put a hand to his lower back.

“I could eat,” Michael offered with a shrug.

Again, Alex managed a small smile, though his eyes couldn’t meet Michael’s. But he wasn’t pushing him away and the tension in his shoulders dropped ever so slightly at the cowboy’s touch that Michael moved closer, putting his arm around Alex’s waist.

“Okay,” Alex muttered, rubbing his eyes, clearly trying to stay awake. As Michael steered him down the hall, Alex glanced over his shoulder at the automatic doors.

“He’s okay,” Michael muttered against the shell of his ear as everyone else went on ahead. Alex turned his head slightly, and for a second, Michael thought he was trying to squirm away, but then the airman pressed his nose against Michael’s cheek, as if trying to get closer. He exhaled shakily, the first breath he’d taken since Michael had found him.

Michael’s eyes closed and he let Alex steady himself against him. Then Alex pulled away, raked a weary hand through his hair, and forged on ahead.

When they’d gotten to the cafeteria, Michael told Alex to grab a seat. To his surprise, Alex nodded wearily, and sat down with his head in his hands. Michael tried not to glance over at him every so often as he filled a plate with plenty of bread rolls and multiple slices of chocolate cake.

Flint took one look at the carbs and scoffed. “Yeah, he won’t eat that.”

Michael glared as he reached for a single carrot and plopped it on top. When he returned to where Alex and Max were seated, Max offering him a bottle of water and Isobel hugging his arm, her chin on his shoulder, Michael hesitated and held up the carrot first. Flint scoffed.

Michael feared Alex really wouldn’t take it, but Alex surprised him yet again. Staring into the distance, Alex thoughtlessly reached up for a bread roll and slowly chewed as if it took every bit of strength he had to eat.

Michael frowned, his brother looked just as startled, Isobel slowly picked her head up, her eyes on Alex, and even Flint lowered his forkful of salad from his lips, looking concerned.

Michael leaned in, and, feeling like a complete idiot, waved his hand in front of Alex’s face. To his horror, Alex didn’t seem to notice that there was anyone there at all in the beginning. Then he blinked out of his haze, his eyes following Michael’s hand before he looked up at the cowboy’s face.

“Hmm?” he hummed, dazed.

It took Michael a second to find his voice, the dread that had been crawling up his chest now lodged in his throat. He managed a weak chuckle, his fingers on Alex’s neck, his thumb brushing the airman’s jaw. “Where’d you go?”

Alex didn’t answer. He gave a small smile that barely lasted a second and went back to tearing bits of bread with his teeth.

Michael looked to Isobel who was still watching Alex with furrowed brows. Max shook his head, as if to say, _I have no idea what just happened._

Only Flint didn’t look too surprised. He stared at Alex with narrowed eyes for a long while before he sighed. “You’ll need your energy,” he said, and switched his and Alex’s plates. Alex bit into the salad as if he couldn’t tell the difference with what he was eating, and Flint’s shoulders fell.

“What?” Michael demanded, putting an arm around Alex’s waist and keeping him close, not that Alex seemed to notice that much either.

Flint glanced at him, debating. Then, “He just needs some sleep. He’s been up for a while.”

Because he couldn’t help himself, and because Alex still wasn’t pulling away, Michael ran a hand down Alex’s hair, lightly scratching at the base of his neck. Alex’s eyes fluttered as he chewed and he came to slowly lie his head down on Michael’s shoulder. And still, he seemed to be staring at something in the distance, something that Michael couldn’t see.

Michael expected Alex to run into Gregory’s arms the second they were allowed into his room. Maybe laugh with relief, maybe fuss over him, maybe even burst into tears. But that wasn’t what Alex did.

When they got inside, they found Gregory sitting up against his pillows with the help of a nurse that Isobel quickly shooed away before she began tending to the Navy soldier herself.

“You look like crap,” Flint said, but he was smiling.

“Better than I thought,” Gregory shrugged a shoulder, and returned his brother’s one-armed hug. When his eyes fell on Alex, there was something akin to relief in his expression. “You’re okay.”

Alex mustered half a smile, his chest was rising and falling rapidly. Michael prepared himself for what would come next, but Alex only crossed the distance between himself and his brother, wrapped his arms around Gregory’s shoulders, hugged for all of two seconds, and let go. He stepped back, rubbing his eyes.

Michael thought at first that he must’ve been trying not to cry, but as he came to stand beside him, he realized Alex’s eyes were drifting in and out of focus.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Isobel asked as Max came to stand on Alex’s other side, urging Gregory to drink out of a cup of water.

Gregory, however, was eying Alex with an unreadable furrow of his brow. “Hm? Oh, uh . . . Mr. Jones, he pulled out a gun.” He shook his head. “Said it’d be a funny irony to kill three Manes men with their own weapons.” He nudged his chin at Alex. “Tried to go for the youngest first.”

Flint scoffed, but wouldn’t look at Alex. “I guess he wanted to torture us before he killed us. We were too injured to really move.”

“At the last second,” Gregory went on, “I got just enough strength to shield Alex. And Flint went in for the attack, but –”

“—but I was too slow,” Flint sighed.

_Another tough Manes Man_ , Michael thought. His tone was so much like Alex’s that Michael couldn’t help but look to him for any hint of what he might’ve been feeling or thinking. He found nothing.

“Your injuries are worse than ours,” Max said matter-of-factly. “Liz and Maria . . .” he clenched his jaw. “I know you purposely took his attention away from them. It saved them. If you hadn’t been military, there’s no way you would’ve survived everything he’d done to you.”

Gregory laid his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Are you trying to thank us for our service?”

“Credit where credit’s due,” Max said with a bow of his head. “Thank you.”

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and swayed slightly where he stood. “Should – uh – should I call Clay?”

“No,” Gregory said. “Are you out of your mind? He’ll go ballistic. He won’t stop until he finds out who shot me, and I’d rather we keep him out of this for as long as possible.”

“Let’s face it,” Flint said with a roll of his eyes. “He’s a Manes. One way or another, he’s getting dragged in.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hold off for now, okay?” Gregory said, then right away – “Alex, go home.”

Alex shook his head and had to press the heel of his palm to his eye. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” Gregory dared. “You want to try telling me that _now_?”

Alex’s expression turned to guilt, and Gregory softened. “I can’t stand it when you do this,” he said. “Barely hang on by a thread. I’m okay – _hey_ , look at me.” Alex met his gaze. “ _I’m okay._ Go home. Get some sleep, some real food. I don’t want to see you until you do.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I can’t just leave you. It’s my fault you’re in here!”

“Right,” Gregory said. “Because danger’s never been part of the Manes lifestyle.”

“I – I don’t need to –”

“What are you seeing?” he asked, and Alex fell silent. “What are you seeing right now?”

Michael frowned. “Alex, what’s he talking about?”

But when Michael tried to touch Alex, he flinched and rubbed his face roughly as if half-trying to claw his skin off. He was breathing quickly, his stubborn gaze on his brother.

“Go home,” Gregory repeated firmly.

“Alex,” Flint said, a touch more gentle. “He’s right, you’ve been awake for almost a week.”

Max and Isobel gaped, and Michael swallowed around the lump in his throat. No wonder Alex looked like he would fall over at any second.

“You need to rest.”

“I can take you,” Michael offered.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Max said. “Alex, you shouldn’t be driving right now.”

Alex opened his mouth and closed it on several silent sentences. Michael put his hand on Alex’s shoulder, and Alex’s eye twitched. He looked to Michael, caught his gaze, and for the first time since Michael had walked in, Alex’s eyes seemed to focus on him.

He sighed, his lips pursed. Again, he rubbed his eyes and nodded with a sniff. “Fine. Fine.” He turned his back to his brothers, then changed his mind, closed the distance between them again, and hugged Gregory tightly. Gregory readily hugged him back.

“Tell me if anything happens,” Alex warned, and with a single nod from Flint, Alex left.

“Alex, wait,” Michael thought the airman would stop beside his truck but he didn’t. Instead he kept limping until he was at the side of the road, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “What’re you doing?”

“Calling a cab – _hey_!” he protested when Michael plucked his phone from his hands. “Guerin!”

“Your phone’s empty,” Michael said, holding up the empty screen.

Alex frowned as he took it back. “What’d you do to it?”

“Cute electricity trick,” he smiled humorlessly. “Not quite Max’s Olympian lightning bolts, but progress is progress.”

“I’m not getting in your truck with you,” Alex said wearily. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Michael tried to pretend those words didn’t feel like a needle wound in his chest. After all, he’d said something along the same lines to Alex a year ago, and Alex had had to almost beg him to be allowed to help. The thought made Michael sick now.

“It’s just a ride,” he said. “I’ll drop you off, make sure you’re okay, and –”

“I’m not your boyfriend, Guerin,” Alex cut him off. Michael stared. “I don’t need you to make sure I’m okay.” He sighed. “You can’t keep doing this. T-Touching me and kissing me like we’re together – we’re _not_. Don’t you realize you’re just hurting us both?”

Michael swallowed. He managed a smile. “I’m not expecting anything, Private.”

“Yes,” Alex said, “you are. And I’m genuinely terrified that if you don’t stop, I might give it to you. And then we’ll both regret it.”

On the drive to Alex’s house, Michael kept glancing over. Alex had his arms crossed tightly as if to ward off the cold, his head against the window.

“I can turn the heater up,” he offered, and Alex only hummed in response.

Michael thought about Alex’s words in the hospital, about giving in to whatever Michael wanted and regretting it later. Did that mean sex? Did it mean dating? Because Michael knew he wanted a lot more than just Alex’s body. He wanted his mind, his heart, his morning smile and coffee and takeout dinner and soft sweats. He wanted every piece of Alex there was to give. Everything he’d always yearned for, but never dared mention.

At this point, after so long of having next to no contact at all with the airman, Michael would settle for a kiss.

When they pulled up into Alex’s driveway, Alex muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ before climbing out. Michael followed.

“I’m fine, Guerin,” he said, limping to his front door. “I don’t need help getting into my own house.”

“I know,” Michael said, “but I told your brothers I’d make sure you got something to eat –”

“I’ll grab a bagel –”

“That’s not a meal!”

“I’m not hungry, Guerin!” he huffed, turning to face Michael as soon as he’d gotten to the front porch. “Damn it, my brother’s in the hospital because of me, so forgive me if I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Alex,” he tried reaching for him. “What happened to Gregory wasn’t your fault –”

“Why don’t you spare me,” he snapped. “You’re so worried about what my brothers will tell you, just _lie_. You should be plenty good at it, you’ve had a lot of practice with me.”

And without another word, Alex went inside and slammed the door behind him, leaving a shocked Michael on the other side.

*

Alex made it to the living room before he collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands. He had been unfair with Michael, part of him knew that, but the bigger part that replayed Gregory’s body falling limp to the ground at Alex’s feet didn’t care.

He felt someone sit down beside him, a hand reach out and brush back his hair, the touch as cold as ice.

“Headache?” the familiar raspy voice asked.

Alex shivered, shutting his eyes tight. “You’re not real,” he whispered. “You’re dead.”

The voice hummed, and Alex dared peek to check whether or not the hallucination had gone. Jesse smiled, and Alex flinched, looking away.

“You’re not real. You’re not real.”

“Am _I_ not real?” Jesse asked. “Or is all of this?” he gestured at the safe home around Alex. “You tried to ignore me in the hospital, son. You can’t ignore me now.”

Alex hugged himself tighter. He heard leaves rustling in the wind outside, been aware of it since he’d stepped out of the truck, and more and more, the sounds turned to soldiers marching. The howling wind turned to people screaming. The heat turned into fire, and the cold had him right back in those trenches. No matter where he went, what he did, how hard he tried, he couldn’t be comfortable. He couldn’t feel safe.

“Did you tell Michael Guerin you’ve been seeing me?” his dad asked, a gleeful smile in his tone. “Or are you afraid he’ll turn away from you?”

Alex clenched his jaw. “Don’t talk about him.”

A chuckle. “So you _haven’t_.” Alex shut his eyes tight. “Because you know, don’t you? You know he only wants you for one thing. You know you can’t depend on him. He would never stay. He would _never_ love you.”

Alex covered his ears with his hands. “SHUT UP!” he screamed. The world was still going on around him, he knew it was . . . but all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, his own heavy breathing. All he could feel was the pain in his leg and the chill on his skin.

He’d felt it the second he’d sat down outside the Emergency Room, the second he’d stopped moving. He was trapped in it. When Michael had come, his voice and touch piercing the haze of his hallucinations, Alex had thought it had finally ended. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen and heard this stuff before, but after ten years, he’d been accustomed to living with it in the back of his mind. Now, it was all at the forefront, demanding attention.

He opened his eyes now to find Jesse had disappeared, but no sooner could he feel the smallest inkling of relief before his eyes traveled to the hallway leading to his bedroom, and he found a wounded soldier with gashes of red in his uniform and black around his eyes, staring at Alex. Accusing him.

Alex’s eyes widened. “R-Richards?”

As Richards stared at Alex, his mouth opened slowly in a silent scream. Patches of deep purple and red and black started forming on his skin as his jaw widened beyond human capability. Alex lay down slowly on the couch, holding his breath, his back pressed against the cushions. He couldn’t take his eyes off his brother in arms.

Richards suddenly ran at him and Alex screamed into the couch. He waited for the impact, to be shot or attacked, but it never came. When he opened his eyes again, his father was sitting on the opposing armchair, tracing patterns on the table next to him, watching Alex with a cold smile.

Alex curled in on himself. “Michael,” he whispered. “I want Michael.”

He wanted Michael’s warmth, Michael’s voice, but . . . Jesse’s words rung in his head, and as much as it tortured Alex, the simple truth was that he really didn’t think Michael would stay for him. The last time things had gotten heavy between them, Michael had chosen someone else. He cared for and _loved_ someone else, and Alex was sure it was going to kill him that first time. If Michael abandoned him now, Alex didn’t think he would survive it.

So he lay there, unable and unwilling to change or eat or sleep.

*

Michael was going to lose his mind. He’d been driving his truck in circles around Alex’s home. It’s not like he was doing it on purpose, but every time he came up to the stoplight, his hands were turning the wheel before he could stop them.

_One more time_ , a voice at the back of his mind nagged. _Maybe he’ll come out this time. Maybe he’ll call. Maybe he’ll ask you to come back._

But in the two hours Michael spent circling that same neighborhood, the only person that called was Max. Michael told him he’d dropped Alex off, and his brother must’ve heard something in his voice because he went silent for several minutes. Michael imagined him walking away from the others, afraid that one of Alex’s brothers might overhear them.

“What happened?” Max asked, and Michael only shook his head before remembering that his brother couldn’t see him.

“He’s trying to get rid of me,” he said, “but something’s wrong.”

Max sighed. “Michael, maybe he just needs some space.”

“No, I’ve seen Alex angry,” he insisted. “I’ve – I’ve seen him upset, and this . . . this was something else.” He huffed, frustrated. “Look, I – I don’t know how to explain it, but don’t freak Gregory out right now. I can take care of Alex.”

“ _Michael_ –”

“Trust me, Max,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.” And he hung up.

The lie thudded painfully in Michael’s chest. In truth, he had no idea what he was doing because he couldn’t begin to wonder what was wrong with Alex. Not because nothing came to mind, but because it could’ve been a _number_ of things. Alex had been suffocating since the day he’d enlisted, everything another weight on his heart, his mind, until it threatened to kill him.

And now, after Gregory’s attack . . .

Alex was under a lot of stress, suffering through a lot of guilt and self-loathing that were bearable on the best of days and lethal on the worst. So no, Michael wasn’t going to go back to the trailer, not when Alex clearly needed him.

The sky had long since turned black when Michael finally relented that Alex probably wasn’t going to call, but instead of leaving, he parked his truck behind the large fence that surrounded the airman’s property and tried to make himself comfortable. He sat up straight in his seat, looked through Alex’s windows, but as they’d been since Michael had brought him back, the lights were off.

Michael wondered if Alex had taken a quick bite and collapsed in bed right away. He hoped that was all it was. His finger tapped the steering wheel as he considered going to check. He didn’t even have to knock, he could just use his powers and make sure Alex was asleep. But he pushed the thought away as he gripped his car door handle.

Alex’s senses had been too sharp for his own good long before he’d joined the military, and he would wake at the sound of a feather. If he was really resting, Michael didn’t want to risk bothering him. So, with a clenched jaw, Michael resigned himself to the thought of Alex in bed, and slumped down in his seat, his eyes wide awake and attentive on Alex’s front door, until exhaustion overtook him.

The next morning, Michael woke to a bird on his windshield. He sat up with a curse, and the small, fat creature flew away. Michael rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his brows furrowed as he tried to remember where he was and what he’d done yesterday.

“Alex,” he gasped and quickly leaned up, looking from one window to the other. The lights were still off and it didn’t look like there was any movement going on inside the house. Michael frowned. It was almost eight in the morning, and Michael didn’t think he’d ever seen Alex asleep past five.

He hesitated. Maybe Alex was just that exhausted? Maybe he was still resting? Maybe he just needed a little bit more time? And while all of those possibilities seemed perfectly viable, Michael checked his hair in the rearview mirror, grabbing his hat. He’d hated leaving Alex yesterday, he’d lost his mind waiting for a single call or text from him. He wasn’t going to wait any longer.

He stepped out of his truck, mentally rehearsing what he would say. He wondered if he’d knock to find Alex half-asleep, his lips out in a tired pout. _“Do you have any idea what time it is?”_ he would say, and Michael would tease him about sleeping in. Even in his mind, Alex did not look impressed.

Michael cringed at his own desperation and raised a fist to knock. He’d managed it once before the door swung open. Alex did not look half-asleep. He looked half-dead. He had on a change of clothes, and had clearly scrubbed his face with cold water to stay awake, if the damp ends of his hair were any indication, so he might’ve seemed just fine to anybody else. But Michael had kissed those lips, had touched those strong arms, that body, had spent hours staring at that beautiful face. And he knew better. Alex’s hair was windswept, as if he’d run an anxious hand through it, the dark circles around his eyes were prominent, his cheeks were hollowed out, and his right eye kept twitching.

“Alex,” Michael breathed. “I’m – I just thought you might want to get some breakfast. That’s why I’m here.”

Alex frowned, and swatted at something next to his ear. He looked over his shoulder as if someone was talking to him, but Michael followed his gaze and there was no one.

“Alex?”

“Um – aren’t you mad at me?” he asked, fixing Michael with an unreadable look. “For yelling at you earlier?”

Michael frowned. “You mean . . . yesterday?”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “It’s been a day?” he muttered, seemingly more to himself. He looked over his shoulder again, gasped, and hurried outside, closing the door quickly behind him and locking it for good measure.

Michael reached out, concern making his heart thud painfully. “Private, are you –”

“I’m going to the hospital,” he said. “I – I want to see Gregory.”

“But, Alex, you –”

“What?” he demanded, a little impatient. “Guerin, I’m going to see my brother. Did you want something?”

This wasn’t Alex. Snapping at Michael, flinching away from his touch – even on their worst day, Alex never acted like this. It only confirmed Michael’s fears; something was _seriously_ wrong. And until he figured out what it was, he wouldn’t let the airman leave his sight.

“I want to take you,” he said, knowing he would be following Alex either way. “Come on,” he tugged slightly on Alex’s sleeve. Alex’s eyes flickered warily to Michael’s fingers brushing his hand, and visibly swallowed.

He pulled back his hand, curling them both to fists and stuffing them in his pockets where Michael couldn’t touch him again, and nodded. Alex went ahead to Michael’s truck, his elbows tucked in tightly against his sides, and Michael followed, the dread in his chest strengthening as something in Alex slowly broke to pieces before his eyes.

Their ride back to the hospital was spent in silence, with Alex curled close against the car door, hugging himself tightly, his brows furrowed and his eye twitching as if a fly kept buzzing by his ear.

“Alex,” he said.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Hm.”

Michael said nothing for a long while. Then –

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Alex finally turned to look at him. He searched Michael’s face a moment, hesitant, then leaned forward.

“Do you . . . hear something?”

Michael frowned. He listened carefully. He wanted to say what Alex wanted him to say, but he didn’t know what that was.

Slowly, he tried, “The engine?” When Alex’s shoulders fell, Michael started again.

“No, no, no, wait,” he said hurriedly. “Are you – do you mean the birds? The other cars?”

“Never mind, Guerin.”

“Th-There’s a rattle, right? In – in the truck? Yeah, I thought I heard something earlier –”

“Just forget it,” he muttered, curling in on himself again. “There’s nothing there anyway. It’s fine.”

Michael swallowed. “Alex?”

He shut his eyes. “Hm?”

He pursed his lips, reaching for Alex’s hand. Alex looked startled for just a second, and started to squeeze Michael’s hand back, but then he flinched again and roughly yanked it back, moving as far into his corner as he could. Warding Michael off.

“A-Alex –”

“Please stop talking to me,” he said through grit teeth, the words coming out at once as if eager to be heard before he changed his mind.

Michael’s hand returned to the wheel, his knuckles white. He stole glances at Alex every so often, but the airman only looked uncomfortable and agitated. And lost. He kept glancing around, touching things as if to make sure he was really still in the truck, breathing heavily and then slapping his cheeks to calm himself.

At one point, not ten minutes from the hospital, Alex’s breaths turned more and more labored, and no amount of rubbing his face or doubling over or slapping his cheeks helped him.

“Guerin,” he managed. “Stop the car.”

“What?”

“S-Stop the car.”

Michael wanted to ask, but Alex looked like he was going to throw up, so Michael drove to the side of the road and parked the truck. Alex immediately stumbled out and fell to his knees and hands on the desert ground.

“Alex!” Michael quickly followed, and fell down beside him, his hands hovering over Alex’s shoulder. Alex was heaving, as if going to be sick, but nothing came out. His eyes were shut tight. Michael risked being pushed away, and put a hand on Alex’s back, rubbing soothing circles. His other hand pushed Alex’s hair from his eyes.

“You’re okay,” he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. He had never in his _life_ , not even after Jesse’s attack in the toolshed, seen Alex like this. “You’re okay, baby.”

Alex nodded, clenching his jaw and breathing through his nose. “I’m – I’m okay.”

Michael moved closer, pressing his forehead to Alex’s shoulder before he could help himself. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re okay.”

Slowly, as Alex’s breathing turned slower and deeper, he sat back, his hands limp in his lap and covered with sand. Michael took them in his own and gently wiped the tiny pebbles away. He could feel Alex watching him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Michael looked up and met his gaze. He wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, but he didn’t know how much he would be allowed.

“If . . .” he took a deep breath, “if you hate . . . being around me . . . then –”

“I love you,” Alex cut him off, his brows furrowed like he’d already told Michael that a thousand times. “I love being around you.” He shrugged a helpless shoulder. “You’re my favorite person in the world, Guerin.”

Michael didn’t dare blink. “I – I am? Really?”

“Yeah,” he said and sniffled, rising to his feet. Michael helped him up, and Alex gently stepped out of his hold.

Michael shook his head. “I don’t get it. You love me, but you don’t want me touching you?”

“It’s not that,” he said, and pressed two fingers to his eye.

“Then what _is_ it?” he pressed, coming closer. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t.”

“ _Why not_?”

“Because you won’t want me anymore,” he said, and Michael froze. Alex sighed, flinching slightly, swatting at the space next to his ear. “The last time I got scared, you chose someone else. You didn’t want to be with me because it was too hard, right?”

“I . . .” Michael looked for an argument. He definitely hadn’t left Alex for _that_ , had he? Then he realized with rising horror that there was no other reason for what he’d done. A change had been easier than being with the airman. Alex seemed to take his silence as answer enough, and he looked down, disappointed but unsurprised.

“If I tell you what’s wrong,” Alex said, “you’ll think it’s too much, and – and you’ll leave me again. I never thought you’d think I was too much, Guerin, but you did, and it’s . . . awful. I can’t live through it again. At least this way, I can see you. And I can pretend you’d love me either way.”

Michael stared, wide-eyed and speechless. _This_ was what Alex thought of himself? Too much? This was what he thought _Michael_ thought of him? That his love for him was conditional?

Alex wiped a hand across his face, clearly trying to keep himself awake and standing. “Come on,” he said, “we’re almost to the hospital.”

Through his thoughts, Michael managed to say, “But you were sick –”

“I’m fine,” Alex said quickly, a hand on his stomach that proved he was lying. But he gave Michael a small smile and pushed ahead.

_He’s doing it for me_ , Michael realized. Pretending he was okay to keep from scaring Michael away. Because Michael let him think that he was too much when he wasn’t doing everything for everybody. He made him feel like he didn’t deserve help.

“Oh god,” he breathed to himself as Alex limped into the car. “What did I do?”

Alex said nothing the rest of the ride and Michael didn’t dare prompt him. When they got to the hospital and up to the right room, Alex opened the door to find Gregory in bed, reading a book. He looked tired, but otherwise all right. In fact, it kind of scared Michael how much better he looked than Alex, who actually _hadn’t_ been shot.

“Hey,” Alex sighed with no small amount of relief.

“Hey,” Gregory smiled and reached an arm out for him. His brows furrowed the closer his brother came, and when Alex hugged him, he frowned. “ _Hey_. What the hell happened to you?”

Alex shook his head slightly, keeping Gregory’s hand in his as he pulled a chair closer and took a seat. “Nothing,” he murmured, glancing at Michael.

Michael clenched his jaw. Alex wasn’t going to tell Gregory what was wrong while the cowboy was there to overhear him.

Michael didn’t like the idea of leaving him here, but he could tell Alex wasn’t going to talk otherwise, so he asked, “Where’s Isobel?”

“Downstairs with Flint,” Gregory said, his eyes still on Alex. “Flint stayed the night and Isobel got here early, she’s getting breakfast – _Alex_ , are you –”

“I’ll go get us something, too,” he said. “Alex, you haven’t eaten yet, right?”

But Alex wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at a beeping machine, seemingly lost in thought, his brows furrowed.

Gregory looked to Alex, the concern clear in his eyes now. He shook his head slightly, as if to ask, _What’s wrong with him?_

Michael mouthed, _I don’t know._ He stepped back, and, fighting against every fiber of his being to stay with Alex and pull him in close against him, he turned and left the hospital room.

He pressed his back to the wall beside the door, and forced his breathing to calm through grit teeth. Through the small window in the door, he could see Gregory reaching for Alex’s cheek, gently turning his face to meet his eyes, speaking softly. Alex reached up and took Gregory’s wrist, not to push him away, but to keep him close. His hold trembled, and Michael forced his eyes away. Alex wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, but he’d tell his brother. He had to, right?

Without another look at Gregory and Alex, Michael walked away, hoping that when he came back, Alex would at least have gotten _some_ of whatever was haunting him off his chest.

*

“Okay,” Gregory said into the silence. “He’s gone.” His hand squeezed Alex’s. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Alex hesitated. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” he said. “Don’t avoid the question. Why do you look worse than I do?”

Alex swallowed and glanced up. There Richards stood in the corner, a young man covered in scrapes and bruises, blood blooming along different parts of his torn and burned uniform.

“ _Hey_ ,” Gregory said again, tugging at Alex’s attention. “Look at me.”

Alex slowly looked to his brother and gasped when he found his face covered in the same cuts and bruises as Richards’s was. As if he was a walking corpse. He let go of Gregory’s hand and rubbed his eyes furiously. When he looked back, bleary and squinting, Gregory’s eyes were wide and he looked concerned, but physically fine.

“Alex, what –”

“Nothing,” he said right away.

He sat up, the effort clearly straining him. “You just _flinched_. You never flinch! What’s happening to you?”

“You _just_ got your brothers back,” Jesse said in Alex’s ear and Alex shut his eyes, turning away from him. Gregory’s voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. “And it’s been kinda downhill since then, hasn’t it? Gregory gets shot for you. Flint’s been up all night because his broken little brother can’t take a shift.”

“No,” he whimpered. Somehow, in the background, he was vaguely aware of Gregory calling his name, reaching for him. Tiring himself out even more because Alex couldn’t shut the noise out himself.

“How much longer do you think they can hold out, Alex?” Jesse asked. “You really want to add _this_ to the weight you’ve already put on their shoulders? Really, son. Haven’t you hurt them enough?”

“Please, stop,” he whispered, pulling away from Gregory. “I don’t – I can’t – just leave me alone.”

He shook his head. “Alex, I’m only trying to –”

“I’m _fine_!” he snapped.

Gregory sat frozen, his hand halfway to Alex.

“Alex,” someone said from the door, and Alex looked over to see Flint, Isobel, and . . . Michael. All watching him with wide eyes.

Flint was shaking his head. “What’s happening to . . .” he followed Alex’s gaze to the corner. “What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Alex stood, shouldering his way past them.

“But, Alex –”

“For the love of God,” he growled, “just stop worrying about it!”

And without another look at any of them, past the smell of rain that seemed to beg Alex to stay, he stormed out.

“I’m fine,” Alex muttered, locking his doors. He couldn’t remember getting home. Couldn’t remember changing, couldn’t remember curtaining his windows. All he knew was his father’s taunts in his ear, Richards’s screams in the distance. More men begging for mercy, more gunshots, more civilians yelling.

He was in his sweats now, his leg aching as he’d forgotten to take off his prosthetic. But he didn’t care. He had to keep the doors locked. Nobody could help him. Nobody was allowed inside. What if Michael discovered what it was that Alex saw? What if it scared him away again? Alex didn’t need help. He’d never needed help. He’d learned a long time ago that some people were just destined to fight in the shadows and do nothing else. Never rest. Never stop. He would fight now, on his own. He would fight harder than ever, and he’d keep his friends, and his brothers. And Michael. No matter what, he had to keep Michael this time.

When the doors were locked, Alex moved to the living room and lit the fire, looking over his shoulder. It took a while, but the flames started to form. Alex grabbed a log to add on top, his hands trembling.

He gasped, dropping the log halfway between the flames and the carpet, when he saw his old friend in the corner.

“Richards,” he breathed, falling back, the coffee table cutting into his back. He shut his eyes tight. “You’re not real. You’re not here. You – you’re not here.”

Alex heard nothing, his body shivering as he repeated the same words over and over. His own heavy breathing sounded in his ears, the pain in his side from having not had any food or water almost blinding now. He opened his eyes slowly, and found Richards’s face inches from his own.

And he screamed. The hand he had planted on the floor slipped and he hit his head on the edge of his table. He crumpled against the carpet, his body involuntarily curling in on itself.

Richards was gone. His father was gone. All Alex could see was the log between himself and the open fireplace catching flames on one end, and making its way towards him.

“No,” he managed, reaching out a hand toward the piece of wood, to push himself back up, but the fight was gone. The darkness took over. Alex fell asleep.

*

“Take a right here.”

“Greg,” Flint tried, “I’m sure he’s fine, would you please try to calm –”

“You saw him, Flint,” Greg snapped, directing Michael to take another turn. He didn’t know that Michael didn’t _need_ any help. He’d memorized the way to Alex a long time ago. “I’ll calm down when I know my brother isn’t losing his mind.”

“Something’s definitely wrong,” Isobel said, her brows furrowed as she helped keep Gregory from keeling over in the backseat. “I’ve never seen Alex like that. _Ever_.”

“You have an idea, don’t you?” Max said. “You think you know what’s happening to him?”

Gregory and Flint shared a look, and Flint’s jaw clenched.

“One,” Gregory confessed.

“But I hope we’re wrong,” Flint said.

When they got to Alex’s driveway, Michael was the first one out of the car. The house was silent, the windows curtained. Alex didn’t even seem to be home. Without waiting for the others who were still helping Gregory and his crutches out of the truck, Michael knocked on Alex’s door.

“Alex?” No response. “Alex, it’s me,” he tried again, and again, Alex didn’t answer.

Michael clenched his jaw. He was just turning to Flint and the others as they approached, to tell them that maybe Alex hadn’t come back here after all, when he froze.

_Smoke._ He could smell the faint smell of smoke coming from inside.

Before he could try to process what was happening, Flint came up and knocked on Alex’s door. “Alex, open up,” he called. He stilled right away, his brows furrowed. “What’s that?”

“Smoke,” Michael said. “And Alex isn’t answering.”

“What’s going on?” Gregory called as he and Isobel and Max neared the door.

Michael and Flint shared one look, and Flint stepped back.

“Open it,” he demanded.

But Michael already had a hand up. Alex’s front door swung open violently, and they were met with a hallway of smoke.

“Alex,” Flint breathed, but Michael was already running inside.

“Alex!” he called through his jacket collar which he held up to his nose. “ALEX!”

Then Michael spotted him. Curled against the floor, his hand outstretched near the fireplace, was Alex, passed out and too close to the smoke. Michael ran to his side. He wished he could control the flow of smoke, or forcing the fire away, but his powers weren’t so advanced. It didn’t matter though because by the time Max and Flint had come in to turn the fire off themselves, Michael had picked Alex up in his arms and was carrying him outside.

“Richards,” Alex muttered against Michael’s neck. “R-Richards . . .” and he said nothing else.

Michael set him down outside, far away from the toxic air. Isobel and Gregory were beside him in an instant. Michael tilted Alex’s head back and pressed their lips together, exhaling into Alex’s mouth. He only needed to do it once before Alex was coughing up a lung, lurching onto his side and clinging to whatever he could reach. Which, in this case, was Michael’s arm.

Alex heaved, seemingly unable to see them even as Isobel ran a hand down his hair and Gregory touched his arm.

“Hey,” Gregory tried, “hey, brother, you’re okay. Alex, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Alex didn’t look up, didn’t say a word in response, didn’t so much as hum as he breathed raggedly.

“Water,” Isobel muttered. “He needs water.” And she ran off towards Michael truck for a bottle.

“I’m going to go ask Flint what happened,” Gregory said quietly, and, after an anxious look at his brother, trudged off.

It was just Michael and Alex now, as Alex clung to his arm. Michael hesitated, and put a hand on Alex’s hair, letting it run down Alex’s neck, his back. Alex’s eyes fluttered, his head coming to rest down on Michael’s lap.

“Hey,” Michael whispered. “Baby, it’s me. You’re okay. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Alex’s eyes were out of focus, and despite his grip on Michael’s arm, he didn’t seem able to see Michael at all. He curled in deeper on himself.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, apparently unable to even see or hear Michael. “I’m so sorry.”

Michael gently pushed Alex’s bangs back from his eyes. “Alex?”

“I’m sorry, Richards,” he kept saying. “I’m so sorry.”

“Alex,” Michael tried. He felt like Alex was a million miles away from him. “Alex, hey, look at me, baby.”

But Alex couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t see him at all. He just kept muttering to himself, his brows slightly furrowed and his eye twitching.

Michael gathered Alex in his arms and held him against him, one hand on his waist, the other on his head. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’ll look after you.”

“It was an accident.”

“He lit his house on _fire_!”

“He’s fine!”

“He could’ve died, Flint!”

“He didn’t mean to do it!” Flint argued.

An hour had passed and Gregory, Flint, and Max had managed to put out the fire completely. Luckily, the smoke had made the flames seem worse than they were. In truth, only a small portion of stones and carpet had been burnt, but it had been enough to rile everyone up. Alex’s head was rested on Michael’s lap, his eyes twitching and staring off into nothing.

Michael kept a hand on Alex’s hair and another on his back as his brothers continued to argue in front of his house.

“Don’t do that,” Flint warned. “Don’t make this out to be something it isn’t. None of this was intentional, he hit his head, that’s all!”

“That’s _all_?” Gregory’s eyes were wide, disbelieving. “That’s all it would’ve taken to get him killed. We can’t ignore this.”

“We’re not ignoring it,” Flint said. “But Alex isn’t –” he glanced at Alex, the way he curled on Michael’s lap, lost and afraid “—he’s not . . . _that_.”

Michael’s grip on Alex tightened. Alex didn’t seem to notice.

Gregory glanced at their younger brother, too, and his expression softened. “I didn’t say he was,” he said. “But we still need to do something.”

“What about Kyle?” Isobel offered. “He’s Alex’s best friend, maybe he could –”

“He doesn’t need Kyle,” Michael said, pulling Alex in closer against him. “I’ve got him.”

“Michael,” Max was starting to say, his eyes sympathetic as he shook his head. “I don’t know if . . .”

“What?” Michael demanded. “What don’t you know?”

Max seemed to consider his brother a minute, then his eyes fell on Alex and his brows furrowed. “Wait, what’s he saying?”

Michael wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist and leaned his ear closely to Alex’s lips. He clenched his jaw.

“He keeps repeating the same thing,” Michael said, his eyes on Alex. “A name; Richards.”

“ _Richards_?” Gregory shared a look with Flint.

“What?” Max asked. “You know this guy?”

“Yeah, so does Clay,” Flint sighed. “We all found out when it happened.”

“I feel like we’re missing something here,” Isobel said.

“Mark Richards,” Gregory clarified, looking at his brother now. “He’s the reason Alex has a purple heart.”

Michael frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gregory let Isobel help him down to sit next to Michael. He ran a hand through Alex’s hair. Alex stayed numb to it all.

“Mark Richards used to be part of Alex’s team. They were as close as brothers-in-arms could be.”

“Were?” Michael asked. “And he’s what, just bothering Alex now somehow?”

“He couldn’t be,” Flint said flatly. “He died. It was an ambush. Anyway, Alex, ever the hero, couldn’t leave his body behind. So he picked Richards up and carried him to safety. Not quick enough, though, because saving Richards’s body cost him time and agility.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Gregory defended.

“Yeah,” Flint scoffed. “A very _Alex_ thing to do.”

Gregory shook his head at his brother and went on, “An explosion went off,” he said, and Isobel’s face fell. Max looked down, and Michael’s grip on Alex instinctively tightened. “By the time the rest of his team got there to extract them, it was too late. Alex got Richards back to his family, but . . .”

With his chin, he nudged at Alex’s prosthetic. “I _should’ve_ known this was about Richards,” he said. “He hasn’t been right since I woke up.”

“Since you got _shot_ ,” Flint corrected, his arms crossed. “He’s been coming in and out of trances since yesterday.”

Gregory looked up. “And you didn’t think to tell me? Or _help him_?”

“Help him how?” Flint asked. “We’ve all been there, Greg, we _all_ know what it’s like to see that crap everywhere you look! I thought he would have his moment and get over it, like he always does. I didn’t know it was _this_ bad!”

Alex flinched at the shouting and whimpered slightly, burrowing deeper into Michael’s lap.

“So now what?” Michael demanded, hugging Alex closer, as if hoping to shield him from everyone’s voices. “What do we do?”

“I could,” Isobel started hesitantly, “try to . . . get into his head?”

“No,” Max said right away. “Isobel, it’s hard enough to enter someone’s mind.”

“I agree with Max,” Gregory said. “It’d be like a landmine for you, Is.”

“And I’m not letting you go in there and make things worse,” Flint said, leaning back against a wooden poll. “No offense.”

“Then _what_?” Michael said through grit teeth now. Alex was shivering under his touch, whimpering no matter how much he tried to comfort him and how tightly he held on. “We have to do _something_.”

Gregory hissed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He stilled and looked to Flint. Flint, who seemed to understand his silent message perfectly, sagged against the poll.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“She can help,” Gregory insisted.

“Who’re we talking about here?” Isobel asked.

“Who cares?” Michael said. “We’re not taking him to anyone.”

“Michael,” Max tried again. “Just hear them out.”

Gregory was already pulling out his phone. “I know you want to look after him, Guerin, but there only two people in the world clever enough to help Alex now. And Alex is one of them.”

Michael frowned. “Who’s the other? Who’re you calling?”

Instead of answering, Gregory held the phone up to his ear and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. A voice sounded on the other end of the line, and a grim smile tugged at Gregory’s lips. “Hey, mom. Listen.” His dark eyes fell on Alex’s face. “We have a problem.”

Michael had never met Alex’s mom. Had no idea what Alex really thought of her, how he acted around her. He didn’t even know what she looked like. He realized, miserably, that that was more a testament to the stranger that Michael was than anything else, and the thought made him hold on more tightly to Alex as they sat in the backseat of Flint’s car.

“This is a bad idea,” Flint said every fifteen minutes as he drove, but Gregory, who sat in the passenger seat, kept slapping his elbow and looking back at Alex.

Alex’s eyes had fluttered shut the minute they’d gotten him inside, his head on Michael’s shoulder. Every so often, Michael would tilt his head just slightly to see if Alex had fallen asleep, but then the airman would look up at him, weary, his eye twitching. Michael would run a hand from Alex’s hair, down the nape of his neck, down his back and up again.

“I’m right here, baby,” he’d whisper into Alex’s hair, and Alex’s eyes would flutter shut again for only a few seconds.

When they finally got to the reservation, Isobel helped Gregory out while Max and Michael tended to Alex.

“She lives over there,” Flint said, pointing at a low-ceilinged house. “Come on.”

Michael kept a tight grip on Alex, even as the airman hugged his own arms and kept muttering to himself. He knew he should’ve cared more about what Alex’s mother might’ve looked like or whether or not she would help, but all he could think about was Alex as he trembled under his touch. The way Alex kept looking for him as if expecting him to have disappeared, the way his eyes never focused on Michael, as if he couldn’t have spotted him if he was there anyway. The way his fingers clawed at Michael’s so subtly that Michael might’ve missed it if he wasn’t so in tune to everything Alex did and said.

Maybe, if Michael had been paying better attention to their surroundings, he would’ve noticed the woman that had been waiting for them outside her home.

“Gregory?” he heard, and looked up. There she was, with Alex’s dark hair and eyes, a woman and another shorter one with gray hair were making their way towards them. “Flint, is that you?”

“Mom,” Gregory greeted warmly, pulling the shorter woman into a one-armed hug. “Guys, meet Mindy. And this here is Nana.”

“Where is he?” their Nana squinted around at the group. “Where’s Alex?”

“Hey, mom,” Flint said, not bothering to smile as his mother hugged him tightly. “Nana.”

Alex, who’d had his head against Michael’s shoulder, looked up with narrowed eyes.

“My goodness,” Nana frowned at Alex. “What happened to the poor boy?”

“Their father happened,” Mindy said coldly, coming up to Alex, ignoring Michael and his siblings completely. She took Alex’s face in her hands. “Look at him, I _knew_ something like this would happen if I kept him with Jesse.”

“And you left anyway,” Flint smiled humorlessly. “Awesome parenting, mother.”

Mindy looked pained. “Flint, I –”

“Whatever,” he said, and went to snap his fingers in front of Alex’s face. “Hey, wake up. We’re here.”

Alex flinched at the sound and covered his ears, turning his face into Michael’s shoulder, “S-Stop it, stop.”

“Leave him alone,” Michael growled, his arm around Alex’s waist protective. Nana seemed to consider Michael with a squint. “Look,” he turned to Mindy. “Can you help Alex or not?”

“His father had the same issue when he was a boy,” Nana grumbled, as if even the mention of Jesse brought a bad taste to her mouth. “Some peace and quiet and proper attention and care is what he needs.”

Mindy tried to take Alex’s face in her hands again, her thumbs brushing his cheeks. “Alex,” she said softly. “Alexander, can you hear me? Look at me, sweetheart, look at me. Can you hear me?”

Alex blinked, his eyes slowly coming to focus. “M-Mom?” He flinched again, but his mother’s grip on him was unrelenting.

“Hey, no, no,” she said, holding onto him. “No, nothing’s going to hurt you, okay? Nothing’s going to hurt you. It’s all in your head – _look at me_ , Alexander. It’s all in your head. Okay? _Okay_?”

Alex shook his head for a second, but his mother kept their gazes locked.

Alex’s brows furrowed. “M-mom,” he managed. “You’re – you’re really here?”

“I’m really here.”

“Mom,” he croaked, his lower lip trembling. “Mom, I – I can see him. I can see them all.”

“I know,” she said. “They’re not real.”

“Mom. I don’t know what to do, mom.”

“I know,” she said softly, using one hand to push his hair back from his face. “It’s okay. It’ll go away, okay? It’ll go away.”

“Oh, Alex,” his Nana said sadly. “What did he do to you?”

Then, as if it had been waiting to be released all this time, a sob escaped Alex’s lips and he wrapped his arms around his mom’s shoulders.

“Mom,” he cried. “It’s going to kill me. I can’t – I can’t breathe.”

His mother ran her hands up and down his back, shushing him softly even as tears filled her eyes.

“I’m so scared, mom,” Alex sobbed. “Please help me. Please.”

“I will,” Mindy promised over and over as Nana patted Alex’s arm soothingly. “I will.”

But Michael’s eyes were on Alex, shocked and terrified. He’d never seen Alex cry like this, he’d never seen him _beg for help_ from anyone. Alex, after all, handled things on his own, pushed past the pain every time to help everyone else with their sufferings. Because it was Alex, and Alex was the hero, and heroes never needed help. Heroes never broke.

But this one did. This one was shattering before Michael’s eyes and there was nothing Michael could do to save him. As he touched his back, feeling the tremors beneath his fingers, Michael wondered how he’d never noticed what was becoming of the man he loved.

Two hours later, Michael found himself on a couch in Mindy’s living room. He had clear sight of Alex, sleeping in the bed in the next room. He was buried in sheets, the first time Michael had seen him really sleep since . . . long before yesterday, and had turned over in bed, his back now to the door. A real mark of his exhaustion, if nothing else.

“How long has he been like this?” Mindy asked.

“Yesterday,” Flint confessed. “Since Greg got shot.”

Michael might’ve expected their mother to have a heart attack. They’d just brought one of her sons in on the brink of collapse, and the other was gravely wounded. But being a Manes must’ve trained her well for this because her expression hardened just for a second, and she squeezed her hands, and with all the stability Michael had known of the Manes Men, she spoke.

“How?”

“It was an accident,” was all Gregory said.

“Alex would’ve been shot if Gregory hadn’t jumped in,” Isobel clarified.

“Yep,” Nana mumbled. “That’ll do it. That boy carries enough on his shoulders without worrying for everybody else.” She heaved a sigh and used her cane to help her stand. She made it halfway and Flint helped her up the rest of it. “I’ll go check on the cookies. You know Alex forgets to eat when he’s upset.”

And she trudged off. Michael wondered if he should tell her that there was no point in baking anything. Alex would wake up and they would leave soon.

“How’d she know Alex would be coming?” Max asked.

Mindy shrugged a little helplessly. “She’s had a feeling since she woke up.”

“That’s Nana,” Flint said, fond seemingly despite himself.

Michael hummed noncommittally. He knew he should’ve been paying attention to their conversation, but mostly he was preoccupied with Alex. No matter how loudly they spoke, Alex was sound asleep. Michael had more than half a mind to slip into bed with him and fall asleep against him, his hand on Alex’s chest to make sure he was still breathing.

He didn’t like being here, he’d admit it. It was homey, sure; the ground was covered in thick rugs and the walls had interesting paintings and pictures, and dark reds and violets and intricate patterns filled the place with a sense of history. But the way Alex had cried so easily in his mother’s arms, the way he’d fallen asleep without a problem in that old bed, the way Flint got up to drink water from the kitchen or Gregory made himself comfortable on an armchair – it all spoke of a life Alex had outside of Roswell, a life that didn’t include Michael, a life Michael knew nothing about.

Michael knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of this place, but he couldn’t help it. He was. He wanted to leave now and take Alex with him. Alex had disappeared too often in the past, and Michael had never known where he was or how he was doing. This was the first time in his life he had to face the real threat of a home Alex could have. A home that was far away from Michael.

Everyone conversed for another hour, Michael’s eyes on Alex, watching him breathe. Mindy didn’t ask who he was to Alex, or who Alex was to him. He supposed it showed enough.

It was sunset when they stood to leave, and Michael immediately said, “Okay, should I wake Alex or something? Tell him it’s time to go?”

His siblings and Gregory frowned, sharing a look. “Uh – Michael, Alex isn’t coming,” Gregory said. “We – we were just talking about that.”

“Michael,” Isobel’s voice was gentle. “Weren’t you listening?”

“What?” Michael scoffed. “What’re you talking about, of course Alex is coming with us.”

“Alex needs to be here,” Nana said. “With me and his mother.”

“Alex needs to be with _me_ ,” Michael argued. “I’m – I’m not leaving him.” Nobody said anything, and Michael chuckled humorlessly. “You can’t be serious, he needs to come home.”

“He _is_ home,” Mindy said softly. “Michael, thank you for caring about Alex, but he needs some place far away from his father. This is it.”

“He _has_ that place!” Michael insisted. “With me!”

“Michael,” Max said firmly. “Alex isn’t comfortable around you.”

The room went silent. Michael felt as though he’d just been punched.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded it. “Really, I am, but even you have to admit that too much has happened between you. The whole thing with Maria was the tipping point, don’t you get that?”

Michael’s fists were trembling. “You’re saying it’s _my_ fault he’s like this?”

“Of course not,” Gregory said. “But, Guerin, _come on_.”

“Alex needs people he can trust,” Flint said coldly, indifferent to the pain his words were causing the cowboy. “I don’t know if he’ll find that _here_ –” he glanced at his mother, her expression hurt “—but he definitely won’t get it with you.”

“Even Flint and I can admit that’s not with us,” Gregory said. “It can’t be yet. But it’s . . . worse around you. I’m sorry, Guerin, but it just _is_.”

“You want to protect him,” Max said. “And you want him with you, I _get_ that, believe me, I do. But . . . what happened . . . you can’t just ignore it. It did its damage, and now you have to live with it. You have to give him some time to breathe, Michael.”

“But I –”

“Do you honestly believe he’s better off with you?”

Michael fell silent. Max wasn’t being sarcastic or taunting his brother. He was genuinely asking.

“If you say yes, we’ll keep talking,” he said. “Okay? If not, we leave now without him, and you _give him some time_.”

Michael clenched his jaw as his eyes burned. He looked back at Alex, sound asleep for the first time since Michael had ever seen him. He thought about the Alex he’d seen recently; broken, defeated, crying, heartbroken, disappointed, abandoned. Everything Michael had ever done to him and never stopped to wonder. He’d accused Jesse of tearing Alex apart, his brothers, the military, and all this time, Michael had had his own hand in killing him.

He couldn’t give Alex up. Couldn’t muster the words. So instead, he asked, his voice hoarse, “For how long?”

Mindy shook her head, her familiar kind eyes so sad now. “That’ll be for Alex to decide.”

_But what if he decides never to come back?_

And why would he? For Michael?

No, Michael shook that thought from his head. If Alex didn’t come back, Michael would come back and get him. He’d seen life without Alex. He would rather be dead than live it again. Michael looked at Alex one more time, committing this picture of soft peace to memory, drawing strength.

_One week_ , he thought. _Then I’m coming back for you._

And without a word, Michael lowered his hat to cover his eyes and stormed out, already counting down the seconds.


	2. A Little Braver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dying . . .  
> If you liked it even a little bit, please comment and share, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

_It’s so quiet._

Alex pulled the handmade quilt tighter around his shoulders. The wind bit at his cheeks and nose, making him sniffle. He leaned back in his grandfather’s old wicker armchair, the well-worn cushion warm and soft.

He could hear faint rustling inside the house behind him, but he was sitting against the wall and the window to the kitchen was wide open. Alex exhaled slowly, sinking down further in his blankets. The near-empty stores and small homes pushed Alex back to the safest corners of his memories; moments with his mother and Nana and grandfather, telling stories and mugs of hot broth in the cold of winter.

_No place is safe_ , a small voice that sounded awfully like Jesse Manes told him. _I can see you wherever you are, Alex._

_Why? Why’d you let me die?_

_How useful can a broken soldier be, Alex?_

Alex shut his eyes, inhaling sharply, the sound cutting through the haze of chaos in his head and turning the world silent.

“Mom?”

He meant to call for her, but would not risk screaming now for fear of breaking the delicate tranquility he’d just gotten.

His eyes were closed, and again, he grasped for comfort in the dark.

“Mom,” he said again, a little louder. “Mom –”

“I’m here,” a voice said as a gentle hand touched his hair. His mother appeared with two steaming mugs in one hand. “I’m right here.”

Alex took the offered cup, his fingers curling around the warmth. He released a long breath he didn’t know he was holding. She sat down at the end of the couch, as close as possible to Alex, and reached out, pushing his bangs back from his eyes.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” she said. “It looks nice like this.”

He managed half a smile before it fell away. His mother’s expression softened.

“ _Alexander_ ,” she said. “It’s okay.”

He shook his head. “It’s been days, mom. I’m . . . I’m not healing fast enough.”

“There’s no countdown here.”

“There _is_ ,” he said. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes burning. “I miss him.”

They weren’t words he said often, and usually to no one other than Kyle. But it felt like the smallest weight had been lifted off his shoulders with the confession now.

His mom definitely didn’t have the same reaction his dad had had. She leaned in, her dark brown eyes reassuring. “I’m sure he misses you, too.”

Alex clenched his jaw. He would’ve done anything for that to be the truth. But after he’d woken up in his grandparents’ old bed four days ago, he found himself drained in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d woken up in a different room, thousands of miles from here, with one of his limbs missing.

“Michael,” was the first word he’d said, but Michael had left with his siblings and Alex’s brothers. Alex had curled up in the sheets when he’d been told that the cowboy had gone, the rest of his mother and Nana’s words turned muffled and distant. Michael had left him. Alex tried not to let the uncomfortable trickle spreading throughout his chest bother him, but he couldn’t help it.

A tear had run down the bridge of his nose, his body numb as he thought about what Michael must’ve been feeling; relief and gratitude, probably eager to hand Alex over to someone else who could deal with him better. Alex had been too much, and Michael had left him. Somehow, he was still surprised.

Alex pressed the heel of his palm to his eye and exhaled slowly. For a while, all he could hear was the wind, children playing somewhere in the distance, shop owners opening up for the day. It was a small community, but close. Alex briefly imagined staying here, being part of a town that didn’t know what he’d done and who he’d hurt. People that were just people – no aliens, no Project Shepherd, no one that deserted him because he’d gotten scared. For a moment, Alex dared imagine starting over somewhere far from Roswell.

_But Michael is in Roswell_ , a voice in his mind said, and he found he couldn’t ignore it.

Michael was in Roswell, so leaving wasn’t an option. Alex had wanted to run, more than ever, when Michael had chosen Maria. He’d wanted to leave that cursed town and never come back.

“Am I that pathetic?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “I can’t rest in any place Michael isn’t? And I can’t rest if he’s there.” He shook his head. “Mom, I feel like I’m suffocating, and he doesn’t care.”

“He does,” she said calmly, steadily. “Trust me, Alex. He _does_.”

He held his mug closer to his chest. “What am I going to do?” he asked, aware of how desperate he sounded. “I’ve been leading for so long, I . . . mom, please. Tell me what to do.”

His mother stood, came up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her chin rested on the top of his head. “My baby boy,” she murmured, and kissed his hair. “The first thing you’re going to do is _breathe_.”

Alex took a deep, shaky breath and released it. He could feel his mother smile against his hair.

“Tell me,” she said. “Do you want to see him?”

“More than anything,” he said without a second’s hesitation.

“Then I think you have your answer.”

Alex considered this. He leaned back into his mother’s warmth, and reached up to grip her arm. “In a few days,” he decided, steadier than he’d been in weeks, “I’ll go back to Roswell. I want to talk to Michael.”

*

Nearly a week had passed, and Michael was not handling the distance well. He was cutting logs apart, swinging the ax down with brutal force. Another day, and he would be hurtling back to the reservation, demanding to see Alex and bring him home.

He had no idea what he would say, how he would convince Alex to come back, the image and sound of Alex sobbing against his mother, begging for help still haunted him, and the lack of plan scared him, but he never did much by thinking it through anyway.

_“Please help me.”_

The ax fell from Michael’s hand and he came down to a crouch, panting. His muscles burned and his bones ached, and he was sure he was going to lose his mind out here in the desert thinking about Alex, but he wanted his airman back. He knew it was selfish, knew it was unfair to wish for since he didn’t know how to help, but _he wanted Alex_.

Michael heard a car drive into the junkyard, and he shut his eyes with a sigh. Who was bothering him on his day off? He forced himself to his feet, trying not to let his frustration boil into fury at whoever had showed up. Then he froze.

The car parked, and Michael watched as Alex stepped out, closing the door behind him and putting his hands in his pockets.

Michael squinted, and roughly rubbed his eyes with his forearm. He took a step towards him and stopped. “Is – is that really you?”

Alex looked down, running a hand through his hair. Michael might’ve forgotten that he’d broken down a week ago if his fingers weren’t still trembling slightly and his lips didn’t pinch at the corners.

“I’m back,” he said.

Michael swallowed. Alex’s voice echoed through every inch of his body, and he yearned to move closer, but he was afraid of scaring him away.

“For how long?” he asked, the words heavy on his tongue.

“I don’t know,” Alex confessed. Michael tried not to let the words shatter him. Did that mean Alex was leaving again? Would he be back this time? Michael had hardly been able to bear being away from him the first time.

“Then why are you here?” Michael asked before he could help himself.

Alex finally looked up, meeting his gaze, the sun made his eyes bright hazel and had Michael’s heart stuttering in his chest. A few feet. That was all it took to get to him. He took another step closer. Alex seemed to notice, but he said nothing.

“I wanted to see you,” Alex said.

Michael tried to swallow, but there was a lump in his throat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He fidgeted where he stood, and Michael realized his hands had curled to fists in his pockets as he struggled with his words. Michael opened his mouth, not knowing what he would say or offer, when Alex huffed an embarrassed chuckle, and said, “Aren’t you going to hug me or something?”

His face was red, his eyes down as if he was ashamed to ask. As if he was preparing to be rejected.

Michael closed the distance between them at lightning speed and wrapped Alex in his arms, eliciting a startled gasp. He held him so tightly he was sure Alex couldn’t breathe, but the airman wasn’t complaining.

When Alex’s arms tentatively came around his waist, Michael heaved a deep, relieved sigh against his shoulder, and buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck.

“Baby,” he breathed. “I missed you so much.”

Alex’s grip on him tightened. “Yeah?”

“I was gonna come get you tomorrow,” he said, aware his body was vibrating, and not caring in the least. “I was so scared you wouldn’t want to see me.”

Alex pulled away, but Michael, panicking, kept a tight hold on his waist, keeping their hips and stomachs pressed together. Alex touched his jaw lightly, searching his face, his eyes hazed. Like he could only see Michael and nothing else.

“You make it quiet,” he whispered, his breath fanning Michael’s lips and making his mouth hang open.

Michael pulled Alex in closer by his hips. “Yeah?” he breathed.

Alex nodded. “Can you help me, Guerin?” he said, tilting his head, his mouth hovering over Michael’s. They were panting. Michael’s fingers gripped the hem of Alex’s shirt. “Help me just this once –”

Alex had barely gotten the words out when Michael surged forward, taking Alex’s lips in his own, kissing him hungrily. A moan escaped his lips before he could help it, not that he wanted to. It had been _too long_ since he’d gotten to kiss Alex, to touch him like this.

“I – I want –” Alex gripped Michael’s jacket collar tightly. “Please.”

Michael nearly pulled him onto the desert ground right then. Biting his lower lip, Michael kept on arm around Alex’s waist and pulled him back towards the airstream.

“I’ll take care of you, baby,” he whispered, biting Alex’s lower lip, and reveling in his moan.

Michael closed the trailer door behind him. He would’ve pushed Alex onto the bed, but he couldn’t be away from him that long. He wrapped an arm around his waist instead, and lowered him down, lying on top of him.

“Alex,” he breathed, running his hands up Alex’s shirt. His cock throbbed at the warmth of Alex’s soft, muscled skin against his fingers.

“Touch me, Guerin,” Alex panted. “I want to feel you.”

Michael cursed, already reaching for his belt buckle. Before his buttons were even undone, he pulled his shirt up over his head. Alex bit his lower lip, his eyes raking Michael’s body hungrily. He pushed his own jacket off, and worked on taking off his shirt. Michael, impatient, tore it off, sending buttons skittering across the trailer floor.

Michael licked his lips and kissed Alex’s neck, his collarbone, his hairy chest. He followed the trail down Alex’s stomach. He swiped his tongue across Alex’s bellybutton, and Alex moaned, pulling him up to kiss, tilting his head, devouring Michael’s lips.

“Don’t stop kissing me,” he pleaded.

Michael, hazed and in love, could only nod against his forehead, licking into Alex’s mouth as his hands worked. He didn’t need to see what he was doing. He’d memorized Alex’s body a long time ago.

He gripped Alex’s waist with one hand, groaning against Alex’s lips at the soft skin. His other hand reached down between them, undoing Alex’s jeans and sticking one hand inside. He closed around the airman’s hardening cock and Michael was sure he was going to die. To get to touch Alex like this now. To feel him, hard and pulsing and _wanting_ beneath his fingers.

“I love you,” he breathed. “I love you so much, Alex.”

Alex tugged at his roots desperately. “Please, Guerin, just kiss me.”

Michael nodded dumbly, deepening the kiss, licking everywhere he could reach. Alex had a hand on his jaw, scratching his stubble, his other hand on Michael’s back, clawing the skin and turning the fire in Michael’s gut hotter, hotter, _hotter_.

As he thrusted into him, the airstream filled with grunts and groans, of Alex breathing heavily against Michael’s ear before taking his mouth in his own again.

“Alex,” Michael breathed against Alex’s lips in between kisses. “You feel so _good_ , baby.”

He forced himself not to pound into the airman, to take his time, to savor the feeling of Alex, his tightness, his heat. Alex’s nails carved into his back, and Michael reveled at the sting.

Michael dared look down between their bodies, saw Alex’s cock hard and curved against his stomach, leaking precum and leaving a trail between their two bodies. Michael watched, transfixed, as his cock slid in and out of Alex.

Alex lifted his chin up and kissed his lips as much as he was able with their mouths hanging open.

“Like this, huh?” Michael breathed, moving Alex’s sweaty bangs from his eyes. “You like my dick?”

“I love your dick,” Alex breathed, and kissed Michael’s lips. “I love _you_.”

Michael’s next tease caught on his tongue. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his eyes on Michael’s, holding his gaze for what felt like the first time in years.

Michael let loose an involuntary growl and thrusted harder, faster, taking Alex’s lips in a bruising, messy kiss, swallowing his moans.

They both came at almost the same time, their grip on one another painful and all the more welcome. Michael pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss on Alex’s shoulder, his collarbone, his chest, his nipples. Alex pulled him back up and pressed up against him as he kissed him, and Michael thought he could live here forever, never having to leave this bed again as he wrapped his arms around Alex and kissed him until exhaustion took over and he fell asleep.

Michael leaned back half an hour later, watching with awe and wonder at the sleeping dream of a man before him. He’d done that. He’d helped Alex sleep. Michael was so grateful and happy, that he didn’t dare loosen his arms around Alex, and instead used his powers to carefully clean them both off and pull the blanket up to their chins. He pressed as close as he could to Alex’s body, their foreheads together, inhaling his airman’s scent. And he closed his eyes.

Before Michael even opened his eyes, he was reaching for Alex. His body yearned to be closer to him, to curl against his warmth and feel him in his arms. But his hand touched an empty bedsheet.

He picked his head up, his vision groggy. He wiped his eyes as he sat up, looking around the small space. “Alex?” His voice was hoarse.

It was stupid to get nervous, but that didn’t stop the panic from rising in his chest. Had Alex left again? Had he gone back to the reservation? Was their day together in bed yesterday just a goodbye?

Michael swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to calm himself. He swung his legs off the bed, and stood. “Call him, I’ll call him,” he muttered, reaching for his phone. Then he saw him.

There he was, sitting with his back to the airstream, hunched over with a phone in his hands, was Alex.

Michael put a hand to his chest, and realized his heart had been racing. He heaved a sigh of relief, and went to the door only to stop again. He pulled some jeans on without his underwear, and, too impatient to do more than that, stepped out of the airstream, forcing his steps slow and quiet to not scare Alex away.

He reached out, softly touching Alex’s shoulder. Alex’s body visibly relaxed under his fingers, and Michael let his hand run from one arm to the other, his other hand drifting up Alex’s other arm until it could rest on his shoulder. Michael leaned down and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the side of his neck.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Why’d you get out of bed?”

Alex didn’t answer. Michael came around to get a good look at him, see the rosy blush in his cheeks, his kiss-swollen lips, his dark eyes glimmering in the morning sunlight. But Alex’s brows were furrowed as he scrolled through the messages on his phone from his mother and Nana. They were only two messages, one telling him that Nana was making his favorite roasted chicken for lunch, and the other from his mom, telling him she loved him and that the spare duvet was in the closet.

Michael’s smile dimmed. “You’re going back?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, and sighed as he put away his phone, running a hand through his hair.

“ _Hey_ ,” Michael knelt down in front of him, keeping his voice light despite the heavy weight that was settling in his chest at the thought of Alex disappearing again. He cupped his jaw, and Alex leaned into the touch. “When’d you wake up?”

“About an hour ago,” he muttered. He took Michael’s other hand between his, kissing his fingers. Michael’s heart stuttered in his chest as Alex kissed his palm, his wrist.

He bit his lower lip to keep his grin from widening, to keep from hoping. He moved closer so that his forehead was almost pressed against Alex’s. He could feel his warm breath now, his eyes falling down to Alex’s lips.

“You missed me that much?”

“More,” Alex breathed without hesitation, covering both of Michael’s hands on his jaw now with his own. “I can’t breathe without you, Michael.”

Michael faltered. Every time Alex told him how he felt, it left him speechless. It shouldn’t have surprised him, shouldn’t have made him feel so much that he was afraid his heart would jump out of his chest.

But the longer he stayed silent, the darker Alex’s eyes turned. Alex seemed to wait and wait, but Michael couldn’t say the words that waited on his tongue. That he loved Alex more than he could ever say. That he loved him so much he would’ve sold his soul for him. That he loved him so much he would stay on earth for him.

Slowly, Alex looked away, lowering his hands from Michael’s.

“Um,” Alex cleared his throat. He muttered, “I – I didn’t . . . I shouldn’t have . . .” He exhaled sharply, scrubbing his face.

Michael’s hands did not move from Alex’s jaw. “Alex,” he said. He caressed Alex’s cheek with his thumb and tried to take comfort in his soft, warm skin. Here, and _so close_. “Please look at me.”

“It’s okay,” Alex shook his head. “You don’t have to – I mean, you’ve done enough, humoring me.” He tried for a weak laugh, but the sound only broke Michael’s heart.

“A-Alex, yesterday wasn’t –”

“Just tell me one thing,” he said, his voice so quiet as if he was terrified of frightening _himself_. He seemed unable to look at Michael. He opened his mouth and closed it again several times. Finally, he managed, “M-Maria said you – you used to make her breakfast, and . . . and you’d have to go see her every night, and you fought like hell to keep her from using her powers. Because you were that scared for her. Is it true?”

Michael’s eyes were wide. They burned in the cold morning air. How had Alex known that? Michael imagined him finding out at the bar or the Crashdown, as either Liz or Maria talked casually about it, as if Alex wasn’t there, as if it wouldn’t have crushed him to know.

One thing on top of the other. It was no wonder Alex broke in the end.

“I –” he came closer, held Alex tighter. “Yeah, but – but that’s what boyfriends do, right? That’s what they’re _supposed_ to do. Alex, I just did what I was supposed to do.”

Alex scoffed, a tear falling down his cheek. Before Michael could wake from his shock and wipe it away, Alex reached up instead. “Guerin, I’m not mad at you for taking care of her. I’m _mad_ because I built up this stupid fantasy in my head all these years. That I was – I was different. I was special to you. That if you ever cared about somebody like that, that . . .” he bit his lower lip and shook his head, as if ashamed of thinking it. He shrugged a shoulder. “That it would be me.”

He sniffled, wiping his face roughly. “But I know I’m too – too messed up. Everything about me is too hard, it – it’s too much.” His lower lip trembled despite himself. “And I know that what we did yesterday . . . in there –” he turned his chin toward the airstream “—that’s all you’ll ever want me for.”

“ _Alex_ ,” he breathed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Alex had always seemed so proud of his abilities, so sure of his intelligence, his strength.

_That’s what he can do_ , a voice in his head warned. _Not who he is. Who he is to_ you _._

But that couldn’t be possible, could it? That Alex honestly believed Michael thought so little of him?

Alex exhaled softly and gave Michael a weary smile. “Better than nothing, I guess,” he said. The worst thing of all, Michael thought, was that he sounded like he really meant it. He huffed a laugh. “It helped though,” he said, as if any part of this conversation was funny. “It turned down the noise a little bit. Being around you usually. . . .” His smile wavered, but in the end, it stayed resolutely in place. “Right. I’m not going to talk like that anymore. Sorry.”

Michael couldn’t help it. He was hurt. Had _he_ really done this to Alex? Made him so okay with being unwanted?

Alex took Michael’s wrists gently but firmly, and lowered his hands. He grabbed his jacket and threw it on. “Thanks for yesterday, Guerin.”

He stood, and Michael, panicked, followed. “W-Wait, where are you going?”

Alex put his hands in his pockets. Michael saw, once again, his fingers curls to fists before he could hide them away.

“Home,” he said, and winced slightly at the words. “My dad’s house.”

Michael frowned. “Why’re you going back there?”

“Flint’s staying there,” he said. “Thought I’d stop by and see him. He doesn’t really talk to mom much anymore,” he scoffed, “but I know he wants to check up on her.”

Michael took Alex’s wrist, pulling his hand out of his pocket, and pressing it against his naked chest. “Later,” he said, hoping Alex couldn’t feel his heart hammering against his fingertips. “Go later.”

Alex hesitated. Michael moved closely enough that his next words couldn’t have been heard outside the space between them. “We don’t even have to make it to the bed. I can take you right here.”

It was unfair. It was not what Alex wanted now, not after what he’d confessed. It was, Michael knew, _cruel_ to some extent. But it was all he knew. The only way he knew to keep Alex here, keep him close. The truth was that Michael would’ve been even happier to go back to bed, put Alex in one of his sweats, and just have him curl up against him and fall asleep. He wanted to hear Alex talk about his Air Force team, how he’d spent his past few days at the reservation with his mother and grandmother, what his favorite homemade meal was.

But there it was, beneath everything – the fear of being rejected, of not being good enough for Alex, of having that taste just for a second only to lose it. It would be enough to kill him.

Alex raised his hand to brush away a stray curl from Michael’s brow, and Michael’s eyes fluttered. He wanted to follow Alex’s hand and kiss up his arm to his mouth, but Alex had already tucked it away in his jacket pocket again.

“I blame myself for yesterday,” he said with a small smile. “But I don’t want to use you like that.”

“But I _want_ to –”

“Not if I can’t have the rest of you.” Michael fell silent. Alex patted his shoulder, as Kyle might’ve done to Alex, and walked past him to his car.

Michael thought quickly. “I – I want to come with you,” he said, and Alex stopped. He looked at Michael as if he thought he must’ve heard wrong.

“What?”

Michael swallowed. “I want to come with you.”

Alex rubbed his eyes, the same way he’d done a week ago when he’d been hearing voices in his ear. Michael took a step closer to him, his nails carving into his palms. Alex was too far away. If Michael could just hold him . . .

“You want to go see Flint? At our old family house?”

Michael shrugged, as if to say, _If_ you’re _going . . ._

Alex seemed to consider it. He nodded. “Okay,” he said, his tone unreadable. “If you really want to.”

Michael hated that. He hated not being able to read Alex.

“Just – uh –” he gestured back to the airstream “—let me get dressed and we can go together.”

Alex nodded. As Michael turned, he saw that Alex had taken a hand out to rub his thigh. Michael wondered if his prosthetic had been causing him any pain.

“Hey,” he said, “do you need me to take a look at your leg?”

Alex seemed to just realize he was rubbing his thigh, and he returned his hand to his pocket. He mustered a smile that did not fail to hide his embarrassment. Michael frowned. Had Alex always been so ashamed of his disability? Or was it just around Michael? The thought left another fracture in Michael’s heart.

“No, I’m good,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Alex, you were just –”

“I haven’t used my prosthetic since . . . well, in days. It takes a little getting used to every time.”

“But maybe if I checked it?” he offered. He wanted to do _something_ for Alex. If he couldn’t tell him how much he cared, he wanted to be able to show him. “M-Maybe I can help –”

“You know me, Guerin,” he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes, and something about his tone cut off the rest of what Michael was about to say. Something behind his eyes flickered, as if a light breaking. “I never need help.”

*

Alex tapped a finger on his lap as he watched the desert plains rolling by outside. Michael had insisted he’d take him wherever he needed to go. Alex wish he could’ve told him that there was no need for the guilt, there was nothing to make up for. But he wanted to stay with Michael for a little longer. The longer the cowboy was there, the less Alex wanted to leave Roswell.

He wanted Michael to pull up to the side of the road now, to cross over the short distance between them and curl against Michael’s side. The noise never stopped, never really, but it dimmed when Michael was there. It was more at the back of his mind, muffled background to Michael’s steady heartbeat against his ear.

But Michael wasn’t his. He had wanted easy, and nothing about Alex was easy. Alex loved him too much to make him suffer for him again. So he sat there in the passenger seat, his hands curled to fists on his lap to keep from reaching out.

He tried to remember the feeling of Michael’s hands on his body yesterday, his mouth on his own, his hazed _I love you_. . .

He hadn’t meant them. He couldn’t have meant them. Michael always said things like that when they fell into bed together. Never those words exactly, but always something so intimate, so loving. And then morning would come, and the vicious cycle would start all over again. And Alex couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t pretend that Michael was just keeping his guards up anymore. He couldn’t pretend that he was special to Michael anymore. It had been years. Michael had proven that he could easily say the words to someone else. Could clearly care for someone else. The bitter truth was that Michael just didn’t love him as he hoped he did. It was time to accept that.

“And can you?” a voice said from the backseat.

Alex didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He clenched his jaw, trying to remember his mother’s soft voice and his Nana’s warm quilt. _That_ was reality. That somewhere, as far away as it was from Michael, he still had a family and a home.

_Small things, Alexander_ , he could hear his mother saying. Small details were what saved him.

“What’s your favorite song?” he asked suddenly, before he could help his own words.

“What?” Michael looked surprised that Alex was even talking to him.

“Your favorite song,” Alex said, leaning down in his seat and trying to make himself comfortable. _Small things._ “I want to know what it is.” He could hear his father chuckling behind him and closed his eyes, trying not to flinch at the malicious sound.

It seemed, however, that he had because Michael’s eyes on him turned unreadable. Alex was worried a question was coming. He didn’t want Michael to know that he was still seeing things. He didn’t know how much the cowboy would take, and he didn’t want to push his luck.

_Please_ , he prayed to the stars. _I just want a little longer with him._

Finally, Michael’s lips quirked up. “Dust and Gold,” he said. “Arrow to Athens. That’s my secret favorite.”

Alex, startled and relieved, chuckled. “Arrows to Athens? That’s so . . . Percy Jackson.” His head fell back against his seat. “I love that.”

Michael’s smile widened. “Yeah?”

He hummed, allowing himself these few minutes to stare at Michael’s profile. His stubble, his pink lips, his amber eyes, his caramel curls beneath the brim of his black hat.

“He’s not yours, son,” Jesse reminded him from the backseat.

Alex’s smile dimmed despite himself. He tried for something else.

“What about your favorite movie?”

“Lone Ranger.”

Alex laughed, and something in Michael’s smile turned warmer, fonder. “That makes sense.”

“Underrated.”

“Agreed,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes. “And Armie Hammer’s just gorgeous, so that helps.”

Michael glanced at him. “ _I’m_ your cowboy though, right?”

He smiled softly, watching the way Michael’s lashes curled against his cheeks, the way his curls rested against the nape of his neck, the way his strong hands handled the steering wheel.

Thoughtlessly, with his eyes fluttering shut to the peace of the truck, the comfort of the seats, the reassurance of having Michael here next to him, Alex said, “Yeah,” as he was lulled off to sleep. “You’re my cowboy.”

*

Alex was exhausted. That much was clear. He didn’t sleep this much, and definitely not in Michael’s truck, on their way to his old family house. That was why Michael had pulled over to the side of the road as soon as Alex had drifted off, and sat back in his seat, watching the airman.

Michael reached out, itching to touch his cheek, his jaw, his lips. But he didn’t want to risk waking him. He wanted him to rest while he could, being only another two minutes away from the house. Michael should’ve been comforted by the idea that the only person there left now was Flint, but being anywhere back there, letting _Alex_ anywhere back there, it left him uneasy.

How was Alex going to breathe there? To find any sort of peace? How was he going to get any better, any further away from the demons that haunted him at the home of the beast?

Because Michael _knew_ the voices were still there, scaring his airman. He clenched his jaw, his fingers hovering just over Alex’s cheek.

“Leave him alone,” he said through grit teeth. “Don’t touch him, you bastards.”

No one responded. Michael didn’t expect them to, but he’d been half-prepared for an attack. To see Jesse or someone else from Alex’s past, trying to terrify him. He wouldn’t leave Alex to fend for himself again. _Never_ again.

Michael had started the car back up when Alex had begun to stir half an hour later. By the time Alex’s eyes were opened, Michael was pulling into the driveway.

“Weird,” Alex mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “It feels like I slept for a while.”

Michael made a show of checking over his shoulder to hide his smirk. “Weird.”

As they stepped out, the front door opened. Flint raised his hand in greeting and went back inside. Alex almost stumbled into Michael as they walked, the sleep still in his eyes, and Michael wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

“You okay?” he asked against the shell of his ear, his eyes fluttering as Alex’s soft strands tickled his lips and nose, his maple syrup and wood scent flooding Michael’s senses.

Alex put a hand on Michael’s chest, straightening his shoulders and clearing his throat. “Yep, I’m fine.”

Without looking at Michael, he went on ahead to the open door and walked in. Michael kept close. If Alex was at all disturbed to be back in his childhood home, where he’d had to sneak out as a kid and hide from his dad’s violent words and fists, he didn’t show it. As if he’d been here a hundred times since he’d come back from war, Alex walked the halls with his hands in his pockets with all the ease in the world.

Michael couldn’t help but look around, having never been there before or seen the place where Alex was raised. It was . . . meticulously clean. Michael had imagined a military-style space, more a house than a home, where not a single cup or chair was out of place. Flint seemed keen to keep that aesthetic. A mix of blue-gray and white, the polished counters, the perfectly placed glasses and plates, the symmetrically-aligned furniture, Michael struggled to imagine a boy with black eyeliner and dark clothes, comfortably curled up with his guitar or piano anywhere in here.

Michael found himself reaching for Alex’s elbow, his brain processing too late what he was doing, and too late to stop himself completely. His hand fell, but his fingers still gripped Alex’s sleeve. Alex looked over at him with a raised brow, startled.

Michael swallowed, not knowing what to say. That he was right here if Alex needed him? That he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him here again? That Alex didn’t have to pretend to be tough if he was afraid?

Alex seemed to understand what Michael wanted regardless, because he gave him a soft smile. He moved his sleeve out of Michael’s grasp, and just when Michael was starting to feel the cold, Alex took his hand in his own.

“Just hold my hand if you get scared,” he said.

Michael stared, but Alex didn’t seem to think what he’d said was too important. _Aren’t_ you _scared?_ he wanted to ask. But no. Alex’s fingers were steady in his. They were strong, and warm, and _comforting_. As if _Michael_ was the one with the terrifying memories of this place.

Michael tightened his grip around Alex’s fingers as they made it out to the patio where Flint had apparently just finished grilling some barbecue.

“Take a seat, brother.” He heaved a sigh with a heavy glance at Michael. “And friend of brother.”

Michael didn’t let go of Alex’s hand as he patted Flint’s shoulder a little roughly, making his frown twitch. “C’mon, Flint. How long are you gonna pretend you don’t like me?”

“Don’t touch me,” he said through grit teeth. He looked to Alex, glancing down at their held hands. “Why’s he here again?”

“He wanted to come.”

“But Greg _told_ you he only makes things worse.”

Michael faltered. Alex had been told that Michael would make things harder?

Alex blushed. “It’s just a little longer.”

Michael frowned. “ _Alex_ –”

“Whatever you say, little brother,” Flint said, his eyes lingering on Alex a little too long. Michael knew he was more concerned than he was letting on. Why? Because Michael was with him?

_You make it quiet._

Michael swallowed around the lump in his throat. Flint seemed to have nothing else to say to this. He handed Alex a plate of roasted chicken and the three of them took a seat. For two hours, they talked as if nothing had changed. As if Gregory wasn’t still recovering back on the reservation, as if Alex hadn’t been away for a week, as if he and Michael weren’t actually a couple and didn’t actually spend time together talking like this and this wasn’t normal. But Michael loved it anyway.

He loved holding Alex’s hand, and mindlessly playing with his fingers, and bringing them up to his lips to kiss whenever he felt like it, which was _all the time_. It was as they’d finished cleaning that Alex’s eyes seemed to catch something hanging off an apple tree branch.

“Is that Clay’s old birdhouse?” he said. He let go of Michael’s hand only for a split second before Michael took his fingers again, holding them more tightly.

“Yeah,” Flint said, closing the grill. “I was going through the old stuff in the attic, found it in a box.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Thought I’d put it up.”

Alex smiled as he traced the poorly painted birds with his fingers. “Man, you and Clay spent _weeks_ putting this thing together. I thought dad broke it?”

As soon as he’d said the words, he seemed to realize who he’d brought up, and his eye twitched. Since Flint had his back turned to them, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, so did I,” he said easily. “But I guess he was just making empty threats again.”

Alex swallowed, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Yeah,” he said, and Flint didn’t seem to miss the tremble in his laugh this time. “Hey, uh . . . could I . . . um . . .”

Flint looked over at them, his gaze unwavering and steady, his voice light as he said, “Glass of water?”

Alex pulled his shirt collar back, exhaling shakily. He nodded, but Flint was already on his way to the kitchen. Alex’s knuckles turned white as his grip on Michael’s hand tightened almost painfully. Michael followed the twitch of Alex’s fingers with nervous eyes, the furrow of his brow, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as if he was struggling to breathe.

“Alex?”

“Hold me,” he whispered. When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy. “P-Please hold me, Guerin –”

He barely finished when Michael pulled him in against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around him. Alex felt stiff as a board, his body was shivering, but he held Michael back just as painfully, desperate for contact. His forehead was against Michael’s shoulder, his breaths ragged.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Michael said, holding them so closely together that nothing could’ve fit between them. He had one hand on Alex’s back, the other in his hair. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

“ _Michael_ ,” he whined low in his throat, and Michael’s heart broke. Alex pressed his face against Michael’s neck, hugging him tightly enough that it should’ve hurt. Michael didn’t care. The closer they were, the better.

Then he felt tears against his skin, and all he but clawed Alex’s scalp. He tried to pull back, to wipe Alex’s tears away, but Alex held on tighter.

“D-Don’t,” he cried. “I’m okay, I swear, please – please don’t push me away.”

“ _Alex_ –” Michael choked on his own words. This was his fault. He’d done so much to push Alex away, but never to keep him. So much to show him how little he cared, and never enough to show how much he actually did.

“Alex,” Flint came back with a cold cup of water in hand. Alex turned his head against Michael’s shoulder, his eyes darting from the cup to Flint’s face and back again, beads of sweat starting to form on his brow. Flint held up the glass. “Here.”

Alex’s fingers trembled on Michael’s jacket, his breathing turning shallower and shallower. Flint held the glass closer. “Alex, you have to let him go, or you won’t get better.”

Alex’s lower lip trembled. “B-But – no –”

“ _Let him go_.”

Alex scrunched his shoulders, his jaw clenched so tightly Michael worried he would draw blood. He was just about to take the glass and hold it up to Alex’s lips when Alex forced one hand off him and took the glass himself.

Flint stayed close until Alex had gulped the entire thing down, and even after taking the glass, he kept by him, rubbing his back soothingly. Alex clutched Michael’s jacket as he tried to force his breaths to slow, the tears falling silently and without Alex even aware of them, staring into the distance as if he couldn’t see anything.

Finally, after several long minutes in which Michael did not dare move, Alex blinked several times and sniffled. He seemed to wake then from his trance, raising his hand to wipe at the tears that he only just noticed were there, his brows furrowed as he looked around, as if he only now realized what had happened.

“I – I’m sorry,” he murmured, confused as he scrubbed his already dry face, his cheeks and eyes turning red. “I’m sorry.”

Flint lifted his chin with his fingers, and lightly patted the side of his neck. “That was quicker than the last one.”

Alex managed a weak scoff. “Progress.”

“I think staying with mom and Nana is doing you good,” he said.

With his head on Michael’s shoulder, Alex hesitated and asked, “You . . . think I should listen to mom?”

Michael wrapped his arms around him more tightly. “What are you talking about?”

Flint gave him an exasperated look as if to say, _Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?_

It was Alex that answered, “Mom and Nana think I should stay with them. Get a job on the reservation after my enlistment ends.”

Michael thought his heart must’ve stopped. “ _What_?”

“I’d be closer to Greg,” Alex said, as if that was supposed to be any kind of reassurance. “Away from Roswell, from the memories –”

“From _me_ ,” Michael breathed, his arms tightening around Alex instinctively. “You’d be away from me, Alex.”

Flint looked like he was about to say something, but his phone rang. Alex flinched at the sound, and Flint patted his shoulder as he pulled it out of his pocket and answered, stepping away from them.

Michael kept his arms around Alex. “You’re leaving again,” he said before he could help it.

“I told you,” he said. “I haven’t decided anything yet.”

“You can’t leave.”

Alex said nothing as he wrapped his own arms around Michael’s waist and hugged him back just as tightly.

Michael kept glancing at Alex.

They’d spent another twenty minutes with Flint, none of them wanting to go through memories again. Instead, Flint had subtly asked about his mother, how she was doing, and Alex had told him everything there was to know. He didn’t seem to need to hold onto Michael anymore, but Michael couldn’t pull his hands away for a second.

The way Alex had talked about being back with his mother and grandma, the calm, peaceful mornings he’d had, the hours without any alien news or Project Shepherd codes to crack or files detailing the horrifying things his own family had done. He sounded like he was finally at peace somewhere, and it terrified Michael more than he knew it should have.

Alex clearly loved being back where his father couldn’t reach, but it was more than that. There was a countdown, and they were running out of time.

“Why does this whole day feel like a goodbye?” he asked suddenly, unable to help himself.

Alex smiled. “When has our time together not felt like a goodbye?”

Michael swallowed. “Alex, are you going back to the reservation?”

“I told you, I haven’t –”

“ _I_ can take care of you,” he said.

“You don’t mean that,” Alex said.

“I – I’ve been reading about PTSD,” he said. “I’ve done research.”

“Guerin –”

“And I can fix up the airstream,” he said. “I can make it easier for you to get around. I – I know your leg hurts when it’s cold, but I’ve been working on a heater –”

“Please stop,” he murmured.

Michael’s mouth clamped shut. Then – “Why don’t you want to stay with me?”

Alex’s was gazing out the window. “I already told you why.”

“Because you don’t trust me?” he demanded. “You think I’m gonna leave you if these nightmares don’t stop?”

Alex chuckled suddenly, his voice breaking. The sound broke Michael’s heart.

“The nightmares _never_ stop,” he said, rubbing his eye as if a migraine was forming. “I’m just a _very_ good pretender, Guerin.” His smile dimmed, turned more miserable, more resigned. “But what if I shut that off? Look at me, I haven’t been myself in _weeks_. I’m getting better at a snail’s pace, I’m – I’m losing my mind and I don’t know what to do, and I’m _scared_.”

Michael tried to smile, tried not to sound as devastated for Alex as he felt. “Why is that bad?”

“Why do you think I kept leaving you?” Alex whispered, and Michael stilled. He pulled the truck over to the side of the road, and parked.

He turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Come _on_ , Guerin,” he said wearily. “I enlisted a few days after my dad attacked you. You think you were alone in that toolshed? The man I loved was _maimed_ , and I blamed myself. I still do.”

Michael’s eyes were wide, his brows furrowed. “ _That’s_ why you left?”

“I couldn’t protect you,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe Michael was even asking. “I was terrified, and then terrified every day after.”

“You – you didn’t tell me –”

“How could I?” he said almost helplessly. “After I’d told you I enlisted, you stopped listening. You wouldn’t see me, you wouldn’t answer any of my calls or texts, you got yourself _locked up_ just so I wouldn’t be able to talk to you.” He huffed, sitting up. “And then I got back, and you – you hated me, and then you wanted to kiss me, and then. . . .

“I kept waiting for you to tell me to stay, that you love me, but you never did. So I kept getting scared, and I kept leaving, and I’d work up enough courage to come back and hope _again_ , and then you’d be so . . . so _cruel_ , and . . .”

He hit his head back against the seat, clearly frustrated with himself. Somewhere beneath the cruel, dark reality he was now facing, the ugly truth in the mirror, Michael felt a despair in his heart, overriding any anger. He hated seeing Alex struggle for words like this, but he could remember moments – in his airstream, on his patio, at the bar . . . at Caulfield – moments where Alex had struggled to say what he wanted but forced himself. The strength that had taken. And none of it had ever been met with kindness.

Alex shook his head, and wiped his face roughly enough to turn his skin red. “You put up with that fear for a long time,” he said. “I finally beat it away, but I was too late. You were already so sick of me that you did the _one_ thing I never thought you would do. The one thing I couldn’t. You chose someone else. And you cared for her. And you told her you loved her. And I realized that if a few weeks with her was all it took to bring your walls down, then maybe I wasn’t as special as I thought I was.”

He looked to Michael and must’ve seen something in his expression because his eyes softened. “Don’t look like that, Guerin. I – I deserved it. I was living in a fantasy, pretending I was something more to you than what I was. But . . . you get it now, right? I’m scared again. And I think you would put up with it fine for a few days. But this, what I have to live with –” he flinched as if someone had just yelled in his ear.

When he could speak again, his voice was steady. A very good pretender. “This isn’t something that can ever really go away. It’s something I’ve learned to live with, and sometimes, it’s the worst it can possibly be, and I . . .” he shrugged, “I can’t just shrug it off, I _can’t_. And I need to be with someone I can turn to.”

“But I –” he tried moving closer, to pull Alex onto his lap, to grip his waist and cup his cheek, but the gearshift was between them. “But – no, listen – listen, I didn’t know that. I didn’t know you were scared. I thought – _Alex_ , I thought you – I thought you didn’t want me.”

Alex frowned. “Don’t want you? Michael, I –” he flinched again, covering his ears.

“Alex?” Michael reached for him, taking his wrists. Alex began to whine, something between a cry and a groan, and Michael’s heart climbed into his throat. “ _Alex_ –”

“I want to go home,” he cried. “I want – I want to go back, please take me back already.”

_Back_ meant leaving. _Back_ may have been forever. He’d lost Alex long enough. He wouldn’t lose him another second. His jaw clenched, Michael pressed the gas and took them back to the airstream.

He had barely parked before Alex stepped out, reaching for his own keys, heading back to his own car as if he couldn’t wait to be gone. Michael followed. Alex opened the car door only for Michael to close it, pressing up against Alex’s back. He took Alex’s hand, interlocking their fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m scared,” he whispered, and Alex fell silent. “What do I have to do?” he said, his breath fanning the nape of Alex’s neck, his nose pressed against the back of his head. “To keep you now? I’ll do anything, Alex. I’ll keep you safe. No one will ever touch you again.”

He hesitated, then gently touched Alex’s back. He felt Alex tense.

He brought his hand down, wrapping his arm slowly around the airman’s waist. He whispered, “No one but me.”

Alex shook his head, his eyes shut, his expression pained. “Please, don’t. You – you don’t mean it –”

“I’ll stay here,” he promised. “I – I’ll forget about the spaceship –”

“ _What_?” Alex turned to face him.

“All the research,” he said, holding Alex’s face in his hands, touching whatever he could reach. “I’ll burn it all –”

“What – Guerin, _stop_ , don’t say things like that –”

“But you don’t believe me,” he said, his fingers and voice trembling. He could feel energy rising to the surface of his skin, could feel his chest fill with heat. Both his and Alex’s cars were levitating off the ground, the bonfire and chairs were rising. He looked to the airstream and it roughly yanked itself aside, revealing the entrance to the bunker.

“You’re my life, Alex,” Michael said, caressing Alex’s cheeks even as his very bones were vibrating. “You’re _everything_. And I’ll prove it to you.”

“What? No, _Guerin_ –” Alex tried to grab his arm, to stop him, but Michael forged on ahead. The ground trembled as he made his way to the entrance. “You can’t do this, _don’t_!”

There was too much energy in the air, the very ground impossible to walk on, and it made Alex stumble, but it was easy for Michael. The power didn’t touch him like it touched humans, or it would’ve touched his siblings. He made it to the ladder, and down into the bunker.

He could hear Alex calling him from above ground, but all he could hear was Alex’s fear, his panic, his cries and tears – begging Michael not to leave him. All this time, he thought Alex had been the only one walking away. All this time, he’d been wrong.

And now Alex was suffering alone, wanting Michael more than anybody and unable to have him because he was terrified of being abandoned.

_You’re trying to leave . . . the planet._

How had he not realized it then? That Alex had been asking him to stay?

“Never again,” he breathed. Everything – planet alignment charts, numbers and equations, tools and spaceship pieces saved; a lifetime’s cumulation of work, a hope he carried when he’d had nothing else, when he’d wanted nothing more – it all began to rise.

He wanted more now. He wanted to stay with Alex.

“Stop, stop, STOP!”

There was a hand on his arm, turning him around. Alex was suddenly in his space, cutting through the haze of energy around him, his scent and warm touch and voice encompassing every fiber of Michael’s being – and he crashed their lips together.

Michael was startled for a few seconds, but he was soon hugging Alex’s waist, pulling him in closer, tilting his head and devouring Alex’s mouth hungrily. He didn’t know what was going on around him, but he could feel the intense heat in his body soon fade, and he was left with a comforting warmth from the touch of Alex’s body against his own, Alex’s hands on his face, Alex’s lips against his.

He heard a faint crash and knew his research and spaceship pieces had fallen back onto the counters, but he didn’t care. Not when Alex’s hand was in his curls, tugging at the roots. Not when Alex was moaning softly against his mouth, when his body was pressing tightly against Michael’s.

Michael was content to kiss Alex forever, but they soon pulled back to breathe. He kept a tight hold on him, not letting him move any further away. Alex didn’t seem to want to move either, his forehead rested against Michael’s.

“I,” Alex breathed, “I didn’t know how else to – to make you stop. Guerin, you can’t destroy your research, all the work you’ve done, you – you _can’t_.”

“I don’t care about any of it,” he said immediately, holding on more tightly to Alex. “None of it means anything without you.”

Alex shook his head, leaning back enough to search Michael’s face, maybe looking for the tiniest bit of hesitation or doubt. But he wouldn’t find it.

Michael opened his mouth and struggled with his words only until he met Alex’s dark eyes. Then the truth seemed to pour out of him like it had been begging to be said for years.

“If I never told you I loved you,” he said, “I could always pretend you would say it back. I thought . . . if _you_ turned me down, it would kill me. So I never said it. I should’ve, but I was . . .”

“Scared,” Alex finished, his brows furrowed. “You . . . you really thought I didn’t feel the same way?”

Michael swallowed, his fingers digging into Alex’s skin. “You believe me?”

Alex smiled helplessly, and instead of answering, he let his hand fall down to the nape of Michael’s neck and pulled him, taking his lips in his own again, and again, and _again_. A growl escaped Michael’s lips and he pushed Alex against the wall, crowding him, kissing him until both of their lips were swollen.

Then –

_BOOM!_

Alex flinched so violently that he would’ve fallen had Michael not caught him and held him tightly against his chest. The door to the bunker, apparently, had snapped shut, its sound echoing against the walls.

Alex’s fists were against Michael’s chest, his face in Michael’s shoulder, his whole body vibrating. Michael held him more tightly, his lips pressed to his temple.

“Hey,” he whispered, trying to steady his own heartbeat. But that wasn’t going to happen. Alex was too close, and he had no control where the airman was concerned. “Hey, I’m right here. Breathe, baby. Breathe. I love you so much, I’m right here. I love you, Alex.”

Alex started to pull away, reaching for his phone with trembling fingers and a clear of his throat.

“I – I need to call my mom,” he said. “I need to tell her . . .”

Michael swallowed. Was Alex still going to go back? He ran a hand down the airman’s back, trying not to show how scared he was about Alex’s next words.

“She needs to know I’m not coming back tonight,” he said. Michael could hardly process the words before Alex was looking up at him, hope in his eyes. “Um. Would you . . . uh . . . maybe come with me tomorrow? I should . . . spend a little more time there. Just until I can . . .” He shook his head. “But you – you don’t have to, I mean, I know you have –”

Michael silenced him by closing the distance between them and kissing him, overwhelmed to have Alex’s lips on his again and thankful for it. “I love you,” he whispered against his lips. “I love you, I love you, _I love you_. You’re not leaving my sight for another _second_.”

Alex traced Michael’s lips, his cheeks, his jaw with delicate fingers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “You’re mine, Private. All mine. The nightmares can’t have you.” And Michael kissed him again, swallowing his moans and losing all sense of sanity in the touch of his fingers.

“C’mon,” he whispered. “I’ll make it quiet.”

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)


End file.
